


i'm still here

by theprodigypenguin



Category: One Piece
Genre: ASL Brothers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Catharsis, Dressrosa Arc, Fix-It, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury Recovery, M/M, Marineford Arc, Mugiwara no Ichimi | Straw Hat Pirates, Nightmares, Post-Marineford, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, Shirohige Kaizoku-dan | Whitebeard Pirates, Spade Pirates (One Piece) - Freeform, Temporary Character Death, Tenryuubito | Celestial Dragons | World Nobles, The Revolutionary Army (One Piece), Universe Alteration, am i talking about sabo or ace i guess you'll find out, give him a boyfriend and some therapy plz, this fic is my therapy session
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 104,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprodigypenguin/pseuds/theprodigypenguin
Summary: If you were ever given a second chance, would you let yourself heal? Or would you allow yourself to fall deep into the same despair that haunted you to your last breath?"When I do die, don't bother burying me in that empty grave. Put my body in a boat and set me out to sea. Let me sleep eternal on the ocean that my father loved so much; because before everything else in this world, I am a child of the sea, and when I die, I want to return to it. Put me in a boat and set it aflame so I can go down in the same fire I lived."
Relationships: Masked Deuce/Portgas D. Ace
Comments: 217
Kudos: 186





	1. Post Marineford — Part 1: Marco

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a completely self indulgent One Piece fix-it fic that I'm writing for the sake of my own personal cathartic healing because canon is fake and writing is a power I intend to misuse.
> 
> No beta readers, not since [stares wistfully into the distance] _The Incident..._
> 
> The fic title is inspired by the song "I'm Still Here" by John Rzeznik (you know, from the treasure planet movie).
> 
> This is garbage, but it's gourmet, bon appétit.
> 
> Tags will be updated as necessary (feel free to request I add a tag or warning if something bothers you and you believe it needs a warning).

It was no solace when they finally got Whitebeard and Ace on the ship. Initially, having the two of them on board was meant to be a happy event. It was supposed to induce a party that lasted for days as the crew shed tears of relief and joy. Marco was supposed to get the old man back in his seat to tend to his wounds while Ace was surrounded by his closest friends for a secure embrace that they all deserved.

The atmosphere that stretched across the deck of the _Red Force_ wasn’t nearly as glorious as Marco wanted it to be. There was no celebration, no great sighs of relief. There was nothing to be happy about now. It was good that the marines were no longer leering at them, no longer photographing Ace and Whitebeard like they were some kind of demented circus attraction, but there was no comfort in getting away from Marineford and breaking out of the Tub Current.

Marco felt numb as he knelt beside Ace. The Second Division Commander had been gently laid out on a white blanket, with a second sheet draped over him to hide the deep wound in his chest. It would make sense to cover his face as well, but Marco couldn’t seem to find the will to go that far. To cover the young pirate entirely. It wouldn’t change anything, and Marco wanted to look at him for just a minute longer.

The once pristine white of the sheet was stained an angry red directly above Ace’s chest. Marco’s hands trembled at his sides when he looked at it for too long, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything else.

The bodies needed to be tended to before burial, and Marco felt sick to his stomach at the thought of anyone else messing around with the reckless spit fire brat he'd come to love so much in just a few years. Though the thought of “burial” made him sicker.

Even though his entire body was shaking, even though he had his own injuries to worry about, he refused to move from Ace's side. Though he was grateful to the Red-Hair Pirates for their help, he didn’t want them to stick their noses into this part. It was something he had to do alone. Maybe he was just trying to punish himself.

Despite his condition, the freckles dusting Ace’s face were dark against the pale backdrop of skin. The peaceful smile was still on his lips, and if it wasn’t for the blood staining them, one may have presumed the young man was only sleeping. Marco wished it could be that simple.

The guilt burned in his gut like a hot iron branding him as he stroked a hand over Ace's hair. He'd been one of the youngest on the crew, and despite his clear strength, Marco felt responsible for him. He always felt like he had to be the one to take care of the others, since he was the First Division Commander and First Mate. Seeing a crew member like this, seeing _Ace_ like this, made Marco feel nauseous.

He couldn't protect his family.

He could only _imagine_ how Luffy felt.

The emotions were building and tightening in his throat. Every nerve in his body felt hot and physically painful. His vision kept losing focus as he knelt there and his head swam with chaotic thoughts that wouldn’t shut up

_Maybe you should’ve paid more attention._

_You would’ve noticed what Teech was up to._

_If you paid attention then you would have been able to dodge the sea prism cuffs._

_You could’ve helped Ace and pops if you hadn’t been caught like that._

"Do you need any help?" A sudden voice asked from Ace's other side.

Marco didn't have to look up to know Shanks was standing there. It was his ship after all.

He shook his head in answer, but Shanks didn't leave. Marco really hoped he didn't intend on saying anything to try and make him feel better, because he didn't think he could take it. He felt on the verge of snapping, and he didn't want to cry in front of a pirate crew that was _barely_ an ally.

Most of the Whitebeard crew were following the _Red Force_ on their paddle ship, but a few of them had chosen to ride with Ace and Whitebeard as silent, mournful guards. Izou and Vista were the only Commanders who hadn’t been seriously injured, and a few of Ace’s closest friends were there as well. A few of his former crew from the Spades, though none of them had approached or attempted to speak with Marco. It was probably too painful for them. Marco could understand perfectly.

"It's foolish," Marco mumbled the words under his breath, not caring if Shanks heard; the other pirate knelt down as if wanting to hear more. "I knew we'd lose people — part of me knew we'd lose pops. I was prepared for everything. Everything but this."

It was quiet between them for a moment. Marco lifted a hand to his face.

"He was a kid. He was _a kid._ A kid, and people so readily routed for him to be executed. To be killed as if he'd committed some irreparable sin." Marco pulled his hand down and looked at Ace's face. "This isn't right. Pirate or no, this isn't right."

"Marco…"

"There's nothing to be said," Marco quickly continued, his head bowing lower and his lips trembling. "This is the only sin. Killing a child for being _born_ is the only sin."

He pinched his eyes shut the moment they began to burn. Maybe it was from the smoke from battle, the irritants that had been kicked into the air at Marineford in the violent struggle, but the tears hurt so badly that Marco shuddered. It felt like his entire body was on fire, and when he peeled his eyes open, all he saw was a blurry blue. He shut them again, a sob shaking his shoulders.

He felt a hand grasp his shoulder as if Shanks was trying to steady him. The man's fingers dug into his shoulder but Marco didn't care.

"Are you crying?" Shanks asked, and it sounded like a stupid question.

Of course he was crying. What else would he be doing?

"Marco, open your eyes."

The other pirate's voice was frantic and sharp. That was the only reason Marco obliged. In any other circumstance he'd tell Shanks to get lost, but he sounded so alarmed in that instance.

When he opened his eyes, they burned worse than before. His head was still bowed, and below his sagging head was Ace. The red of the sheet covering his chest was suddenly alight with blue flames. They were small and flickering, eating away at the fabric to clearly reveal the gaping wound in the dead man's chest.

Then Marco saw it: another flame, small and compacted into a tiny blue pearl. It fell from his cheek and hit the charred wound before bursting into a small flame. The sight had Marco coiling further, sobbing harder. He wanted to reach out and wipe the flames away. How could he let himself hurt Ace like this when he’d already been through too much?

He was confused, though. His flames had never done this before. He'd never _cried_ fire before. It hurt. Miniscule pearls the size of teardrops fell from his eyes and broke into flames when they touched Ace's body.

"What's going on?" Marco lifted his eyes just enough to see Shanks, who still had a hand firmly on his shoulder.

Marco realized that with Shanks' right arm outstretched to grip Marco's shoulder, his cloak was hiding the other man from prying eyes. Hiding the fire on his face and the pearls breaking on Ace's bloody body.

Shanks' face was drawn in shock, but he made no move to stop Marco's tears, and leaned closer as if to keep him better protected from wandering eyes. His own eyes were on Ace, and his lips were in such a thin line that they'd gone white.

"I remember hearing a legend when I was still young — just an apprentice. I heard of it in Wano originally, but it sounded so fantastical I never believed it." Marco lifted a hand to rub his eyes, but Shanks grabbed his wrist to stop him. "The tears of a Phoenix are said to have healing abilities."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your tears —"

"This has never happened before though," Marco could barely keep from screaming the words, gritting his teeth and glaring at Shanks.

"This may be a new ability you hadn't yet unlocked," Shanks offered, and Marco scoffed at him before turning his head back down.

He tried to pull the sheet back over Ace, tried to wipe away the blue flames, but froze before his fingers could touch the singed fabric.

The blue fire had sunk deeper into the wound, sizzling at the edges and burning a blinding sapphire. It was grotesque and nauseating to watch, but Marco felt hypnotized by it. The longer he watched in awe, the more apparent it became that something was happening. The flames seemed to be following the damage in Ace's body, flowing through his veins so that they glowed under the freckled skin.

Color was returning to his cheeks. His freckles were flashing as if reflecting the light of the flames. The organs that had been burned through were regenerating in a flicker of dazzling blue fire. His chest moved — _he breathed._

Marco was frozen in shock. At first he thought he was hallucinating, and his tears fell faster. Ace's chest was consumed in blue fire for a moment, so bright that Marco couldn't see it through his overwhelming tears.

Then another breath, this one audible. Shanks breathed in sharply through his teeth to match, squeezing Marco's shoulder tight enough to hurt.

"Get a hold of yourself," he chided. "Someone's gonna notice. It's too bright."

"What?" Marco croaked, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. This time Shanks didn't stop him.

When he pulled his hand down, he watched a few pearls drop into his palm. They were small, felt solid, and they were almost painfully cold. Marco found that odd, considering they burned on his face.

They looked like gemstones, and they didn't break when Marco squeezed one between his fingers. Yet when he dropped it, it broke instantly on contact with Ace's chest, becoming a small flame on his body that quickly traveled across his wound, which looked much smaller and less horrifying than it had a moment ago.

The emotions overwhelmed Marco again and he held his hands up as he cried, catching a few more glittering pearls before liquid tears began to spot on his hands. The fire had disappeared from his eyes, and he was suddenly crying normally.

Lying between him and Shanks, hidden from view by the veil of the Yonko's cloak, Ace was breathing. It was irregular and sounded pained, but it was breath. The wound in his chest was shallow enough that Marco could see where it stopped. The color was back in his face and his hands were twitching at his sides.

Marco didn't believe it until Ace groaned. He lifted a shaking hand and Marco quickly reached out to grip it in his own. He watched in a state of shock as Ace peeled open his eyes. They were bleary and unfocused, but Marco recognized the flashes of orange that always reminded him of embers blown from a dying hearth.

Ace was alive.

"Cover him," Shanks said. He sounded a lot calmer than Marco felt considering the situation. "Completely. Get him in the cabin. Don't let anyone see."

"What — what —"

"I don't know but we need to hide him. He's still injured."

"Mar —" Ace's voice grated like gravel — he couldn’t so much as finish saying his friend’s name — his body shook and his confused eyes locked onto Marco.

"Put those in your pocket," Shanks directed.

Marco looked at the blue pearls in his left hand. "They could burn, couldn't they?"

"I don't know, I've never seen anything like this before," Shanks admitted. "Quickly before someone comes over."

Marco finally seemed to snap back to his senses. He dropped the pearls into his pocket before covering Ace with the partly singed sheet. He tucked the blanket he was lying on around him before picking him into his arms, turning his back to the deck and starting for the door to the cabin.

"I'll tell the others it was my idea to move him." Shanks said. "Get him comfortable and run some tests to see what the _hell_ is going on."

His tone of voice was finally building with some of the shock Marco felt. As if the gravity of the situation was finally occurring to Shanks. Marco still didn't know what was happening really, but Ace was suddenly warm in his arms. He made a noise of discomfort when Marco started walking, but Marco could only breathe an apology as he shouldered his way into the cabin.

"Hang on a minute.” He coaxed as he carried Ace deeper into the ship. “You're bleeding a lot still. You'll need a transfusion. Fuck, I don't know who has the same blood type as you. We'll figure it out later."

"Marco…"

"It's me."

"What's…"

"I don't know. I don't know but hang on."

There was no one in the infirmary when Marco reached it. He figured the ship's doctor was on deck helping with everyone else’s injuries. That was supposed to be Marco's job, but he'd been too distraught earlier to worry about everything in addition to two close companions dying. Everyone was hurt to some extent, whether physically or emotionally, but all Marco could focus on was their second division commander breathing weakly in his arms.

The others would understand.

Marco was moving around the room the second he got Ace on a cot. He was reminded of the deep burns on Ace's left forearm when he tried to prick him with the needle, quickly moving to the younger man's right side instead.

Ace appeared to be half conscious, his eyes open but not really looking at anything. His pupils were blown wide, consuming the color of his iris, sliding from one side to the other as he stared at the ceiling.

They widened a fraction when Marco pressed down on the wound in his chest, as if remembering something important. Marco cursed when he tried to sit up.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Luffy," Ace breathed, and Marco felt a rock lodge into his throat. "I passed out. Luffy. Where's Luffy? Where's my brother?"

"He's okay, he got out." Marco soothed, easing Ace onto his back so he could continue treating him. "I don't know where he is exactly, but I do know he got away."

Truthfully Marco _didn't_ know. The last he saw, Akainu had landed a pretty bad hit on the kid, and the former Warlord Crocodile had come to his aid. Marco knew he got away on the Hearts Pirate’s submarine, and he knew their captain was a doctor, so if Luffy was anything like Ace, then he was fine. Not to mention Jimbei was with him. He'd be completely fine.

"Right now you need to worry about yourself _._ Try to relax, your wound is still pretty severe. You lost a lot of blood."

Ace pinched his eyes closed without protest, but Marco doubted he was thinking of anything other than his brother. He didn’t know how he was going to explain that Akainu had hurt him, or that he’d gone completely comatose after watching Ace pass away. Or how to tell Ace that he had, in fact, for all intensive purposes, died.

Marco lifted his head when he heard the door open, grateful for the reprieve from his own thoughts when his eyes fell on Shanks. "Do you have anyone on board with blood type S?"

Shanks thought for a moment. "Short answer is yes."

"Are they trustworthy? Enough to see he's alive?"

"I can vouch for them."

"Get them please. None of the people we brought on board match his blood type."

"Sure, give me a minute."

Ace opened his eyes again when the door closed, head rolling to the side as if expecting to see someone was still there. "Who…?"

He didn't seem to have the energy to finish the question, but Marco got the gist of it. "That was Red-Hair."

Ace's eyes widened, and he seemed more awake than before. "Shanks?"

"Don't move _._ Hang on, I'm giving you something to settle you down."

"Did he see Luffy?" Ace tried to sit up, a look of pain and surprise crossing his features as he crumpled forward, lifting a hand to his chest.

He started to cough hard and Marco froze in place to watch. It felt stupid that he suddenly couldn’t move — if someone was coughing then as a doctor it was his job to help them — but he could only stare with wide eyes. He waited to see blood spray from Ace’s lips, his hands shaking and clenching into fists to keep them still. It seemed like a dry cough though, unsurprisingly, and the fit passed after a few short seconds.

Ace was lying back against the cot by the time Marco’s feet started to work again, and he stepped closer with a syringe. "I can't treat you when you keep trying to move _._ I'm gonna give you some anesthesia."

"I don't understand what's happening," Ace croaked. "I feel strange."

Marco pressed his lips in a firm line, setting the empty syringe aside once he'd administered the medicine. He set a hand on Ace's forehead to get his attention, leaning over him and waiting for their eyes to lock before speaking.

"Do you trust me?"

Ace bobbed his head.

"Then just relax. As soon as I've stabilized your condition, I'll explain everything."

Ace seemed to swallow down his anxiety, his eyes fluttering in a one sided battle against the sedative. He didn't agree or argue with Marco, and in a few moments he'd finally relaxed. Ace had a tendency to snore in his sleep, but the only sounds he made now were of soft breathing. His exhaustion was obvious, and the sedative worked seamlessly to knock him out. Marco figured he’d be unconscious for a while, even when the sedative had left his system.

After everything his mind and body had been through, he needed the rest.

Marco was back to treating the unexpectedly shallow wound when Shanks returned. Benn Beckman and Yasopp followed him. They both looked mildly confused at being there, but Marco was watching their eyes when they found Ace on the cot, so he saw it when their confusion turned to shock.

"What the _hell?"_ Yasopp was the one to utter.

Benn took it upon himself to shut the door before dragging a chair in front of it, taking sigil as a guard. "I see."

"I don't," Yasopp added, but he made no arguments when asked about giving blood. "Take whatever you need, fuck. How is this possible? He was… just minutes ago I mean."

"Well," Shanks murmured, "stranger things have happened on this sea."

"His organs have either healed or regenerated,” Marco started, already knowing he'd probably have to explain it a few more times once Ace had woken up. "The wound is still pretty bad, though, and I still have to check his back."

"So he'll live," Benn summed up, chewing the end of his cigarette.

"Yes," Marco answered, "but I'm unsure how to explain how, or why, or what happened. I'm unsure what to do after this." He lifted his head to eye Shanks. "After what happened, the world is gonna think he's dead. What will happen to this era if people find out he's alive?"

Shanks was rubbing at his jaw, staring at the floor. "More to the point, what will happen if people figure out _how_ he's alive?"

"I don't even know that," Marco defended, and Shanks nodded.

"It's best to discuss it when he wakes up I suppose," the pirate decided before dropping his arm. "My instinct is telling me to keep this information close and only tell a small handful of people you know you can trust. Things are going to change after Whitebeard's death. I'm worried about the state of the world; and I'm worried about Luffy…"

Marco's frown seemed to get heavier as he looked down at Ace's face. He could still see Luffy clinging to his brother as he went limp and slipped from his shoulder, landing in a pool of his own blood. He could still hear the gut wrenching screams and sobs that shook the air as badly as Whitebeard's fists. Whatever that boy was going through now, it was ten times what Marco and the others were experiencing. 

What were they supposed to do? They couldn't just let the kid think his brother was dead, could they? Luffy had to be so traumatized from the events at Marineford, though. What if seeing Ace alive just made his mental state worse? What would happen if they gave the boy time to mourn before telling him Ace was okay?

Marco didn't know what was best to do in this situation, and he didn't know what would be best for Luffy. He didn't even know the kid; but he did know Ace.

"He's not gonna want to stay in one place," Marco warned. "He'll want to see his brother."

"Yeah…" Shanks agreed slowly.

Marco decided not to look at the expression the Yonko was wearing. Frankly he didn't want to know what he was thinking right now. Marco was too busy with his own thoughts.

Like how he was going to keep Ace safe after this. How he was going to explain to the young man that he had actually legitimately _died_ before Marco somehow brought him back. What kind of repercussions would that have on Ace? It wouldn't just be a scar on his chest, it would be scars on his mind. How was he supposed to deal with the fact he'd died and come back to life?

Though the wound in his chest wasn't nearly as big as before and likely wouldn't leave too damning of a scar, Marco still couldn't help wondering what else would change. Did he still have his Devil's Fruit abilities? Or had they faded from his body already?

Marco didn't want to think about this fact, but Blackbeard had somehow… _absorbed_ Whitebeard's power not long after the man's death. It was logical to assume that it took some time for the ability to fade from its former owner. Marco knew that Devil's Fruit could reappear after a user's death, but it took years. Maybe Ace still had his ability then.

There was so much uncertainty and so much Marco didn't understand yet. The only thing that gave him any semblance of calm was focusing on what he could control. That being Ace's current condition.

He treated the burn on his arm after doing what he could for Ace's chest. Yasopp helped him turn Ace so he could focus on his back. The wound there was smaller and far less severe than on his chest, which was unexpected.

Akainu's fist had gone through Ace’s back, so Marco had been prepared to see it worse off than his chest. Instead it appeared as if most of the fire had focused entirely on his back. What was left over was barely more than a burn, but it could still potentially leave a scar.

What hit Marco was the fact that although the flesh and skin had been regenerated and healed, the tattoo that Ace had been so proud of in the past had been almost entirely destroyed. The skull had been burned away by Akainu's attack, leaving the crossed bones with an empty space right at the center where Whitebeard's jolly roger should have been.

Tattoos could be fixed, and Ace could easily get it redone if he wanted, but it was eerie to look at. It reminded Marco that Whitebeard, the man they all called father, was dead.

Marco pulled out one of the glittering blue pearls, rolling it between his fingers for a moment. What happened with Ace thanks to his ability was nothing short of a miracle, but he very much doubted that the same miracle would happen twice. Even if he could cry the same fire, something told him it wouldn't be enough to revive Whitebeard. The legendary man was already terribly old and ill. Only so much could be healed, especially with Marco's skills; especially considering he had no idea how this part of his ability worked in the first place, or why it had decided to work now, of all times.

A power that had laid dormant, only making an appearance when one of his brothers was lying dead. Where had these tears been when Thatch died? Where had they been the many times before when Marco lost dear friends and family? Why now? Why Ace? There had to be a reason, right?

Or maybe it wasn't as complicated as Marco was making it. It would be completely logical to assume the power was unlocked from the dramatic amount of trauma he'd experienced in such a compact space of time. That was usually how things worked, wasn't it? Things always looked up when you hit your lowest point? If Marco had ever been low, it was now.

Marco was just lucky he'd been crying over Ace's body when the fire started to fall, because otherwise he never would've known what kind of power the tears held.

It was also a terrifying concept, that Marco could bring people back from the dead if he was at a low enough point. If that knowledge reached the Marines or the World Government, or other pirates, then who knew what they'd do to get that power?

"No one can know," Marco said, looking over at Shanks.

He'd finished bandaging Ace's injuries and hooking him to a blood transfusion. He was resting peacefully, breathing easily.

Shanks held his gaze before giving a short nod. "I didn't say anything about it," he promised. "I know we're not exactly allies, but I'll keep it between the two of us."

"Ace deserves to know too _._ When he wakes up. It's his life."

"It's your decision," Shanks agreed, then gave his first mate a quizzical look.

Benn lifted a hand to pull the cigarette from his lips. "I'm not even asking."

"He was still alive, right?" Yasopp asked with a partial grin, and Marco felt himself relax substantially.

He felt unexpectedly calm around these men, and trusted them beyond reason. Shanks was right, they weren't really allies, they weren't close friends, but Marco respected the Yonko and his crew because Whitebeard had.

By trusting Shanks with this bizarre secret, Marco was trusting him with his very life, and potentially his freedom. It was unnerving, but if it was for Ace, Marco could deal with it.

"Let him rest," Shanks said. "You need to be treated as well, don't you? I know you can heal most of your injuries, but you're exhausted. You have other doctors on your ship, don't you? Or should I ask mine to give you a hand?"

"Our crew is composed partly of doctors because of pops," Marco said, though Shanks probably knew that already. "One of them followed us to your ship. I can ask him to give me a hand."

"Alright." Shanks shifted on his feet, starting for the door. "You can move Ace to a more secure room as soon as you deem it safe. We may need the infirmary later, and I doubt you want prying eyes to notice him recovering."

"Not yet at least," Marco agreed. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Shanks gave him a smile. "Let me know if anything changes, or if you need anything. The three of us will keep this to ourselves. Right?"

"Shouldn't be too hard," Yasopp said, following his captain to the door as Benn stood, pushing the chair aside.

"Yeah."

Marco gave Ace one last look before pulling a curtain closed around his cot. He'd be out for a while, even with his unusual endurance, so Marco had time to duck out for a moment. Earlier, after getting on the ship, confirming his crew and their allies were well on their way and safe from the marines, he'd quickly bandaged his own wounds, but he hadn't really bothered to treat them or pay special care to his own condition.

Now that the adrenaline was fading out, he was starting to feel the effects of everything. He was exhausted, his eyes still hurt, his head throbbed badly, bruises and bleeding cuts and scrapes that littered his body ached with every step, and he dragged his feet as he followed the three Red-Hair pirates out onto the deck.

There was one other doctor from Whitebeard’s crew, under Marco’s direct command, who had followed them onto the _Red Force._ He’d been under Marco’s care and tutelage for the past few years, so the head doctor knew the young man well enough to know he didn’t come aboard just because Marco was there. In all honesty, he probably just couldn’t bring himself to abandon Ace, even when he was lifeless.

The battle had been painful and exhausting for all of them, but Masked Deuce was more of a healer than a fighter, and out of everyone in Whitebeard’s crew of over a thousand — not including their allies — he had always been the closest to Ace. The young pirate had been Ace’s first companion, having met shortly after leaving his home island to form his own crew. The two of them together formed the Spades Pirates, with Ace taking the role as captain while Deuce stood by his side as his first mate.

They’d been close friends and partners from the very beginning, and Marco could still clearly recall Deuce rushing back to his captain’s aid after Ace had been soundlessly beaten by Whitebeard. He hadn’t been much of a fighter back then either, reaching Ace’s side and cradling his unconscious form while snarling at Whitebeard. He’d still had the gall to try and fight off a few of the crew in order to protect the Spades captain, but he had little luck.

Deuce had been the first to defend Ace against Whitebeard, so he was loyal to a fault, but he was also the first in the crew to calmly accept the situation when they’d been brought onto the _Moby Dick,_ which showed how equally level headed and intelligent he was. In the beginning he was clearly uncomfortable with being placed in the medical ward, but Marco could spot someone’s healing potential from a mile away.

He was especially intrigued when Deuce had reluctantly admitted to being a dropout medical student. The kid knew what he was doing, despite consistently looking to Marco for confirmation that his choices in healing were correct. He had skill, but almost no confidence in himself. It was heart wrenching, but after a few years of working on Whitebeard’s crew as a doctor, Deuce had gotten a lot better.

Through it all, though Ace had taken the mantle of Second Division Commander and went on frequent off-ship missions while Deuce more often than not stayed on board to take care of their crew and their captain, the two of them remained near inseparable. Deuce had accepted his position, respected Whitebeard, and tirelessly cared for the pirates who came to him for healing, but Marco knew that in Deuce’s heart, his captain would always be Ace.

So being at Marineford, in the heart of the battle despite being a doctor and not built for fighting anything more than Navy foot soldiers or rogue pirates, and watching his beloved captain fall the way he had — Marco’s heart went out for Deuce.

If anyone deserved to know what was going on, that Ace was alive, it was his loyal first mate who’d been with him from day one.

Deuce had been sitting on a crate of supplies beside the rail of the ship ever since coming aboard. He was staying away from the rest of the crew, isolating himself in his own world. Marco didn’t think that was very wise, especially considering the self deprecating thoughts Deuce would occasionally battle with. Being alone when he was upset about something never boded well for his mental condition.

The young doctor was sitting hunched forward, coiled into himself protectively. There was a worn out journal sitting open on his lap, a feather quill clenched between his fingers so tight that his knuckles had gone white. Sitting open at his feet was a green bag that he’d filled with the bare essentials a field medic would require when going into a battle: bandages, ointment, vials of liquid tonics and pills, syringes, needles and medical sutures, as well as a loaded gun and an easily concealed _tantō_ that Izou had insisted he take along, just in case.

Marco had only been able to spot Deuce a few times during the war. Each time he’d been on his knees beside some injured member of their forces, working to stop heavy bleeding or bandage less severe wounds so they could get back up immediately to continue the fight. Thinking back, he’d seen the younger pirate helping both their crew and allies, as well as the occasional Navy soldier. Marco wasn’t surprised, because Deuce had a kind heart. He couldn’t turn away from someone in pain, that was one of his better qualities. Being able to maintain some form of humanity, even in conditions akin to a massacre, was a skill worth acknowledging.

Deuce went onto the field to help the injured, but he’d sustained a few injuries of his own during the war. There were plasters wrapped around his knuckles, a white square of gauze taped to his right temple, and bandages around his otherwise bare midsection. As usual, his mask was securely over his eyes to obscure his identity beyond the moniker Ace had given him, and his pale blue hair was falling into his face. His lips were tight and his posture almost appeared dangerous.

He was generally a very calm and level headed person, Marco had rarely if ever seen him get genuinely angry, but in light of the tense situation they’d just gotten out of, the older pirate was worried he'd be lunged at if he tried to approach.

Marco debated whether he should give the kid a bit of space and just ask the Red-Hair ship doctor for medical aid, but Deuce needed to know what was going on. Even if he wanted to be alone now, he _needed_ to know, before that head of his sent him spinning somewhere dark that not even Ace’s light could bring him out of.

"Mind if I bother you?" Marco asked, stopping a few steps beyond arm's length. He doubted Deuce would go after him, but decided to er on the side of caution anyway.

The pen froze as Deuce paused in his writing, but he didn’t give any vocal sign that he’d heard his mentor speak. Marco couldn’t read the words on the page from the distance he stood, but he noticed that a few letters looked smudged and blotched. As if from sweat or tears.

Deuce tended to get irritated when someone interrupted him while he was documenting something. He took his log books very seriously, and never let other people look at his notes. From what Marco understood, it was the young doctor’s goal to eventually write a series of books based on the adventures he’d gone on, so he was meticulous to the point of obsession when he had one of his books open.

Marco winced when Deuce tucked the pen in his book before gently shutting it, setting it into the open bag at his feet with great care. Almost as if he didn't want to damage any of the precious words the book was holding.

He wordlessly waved to one of the other crates stacked beside him without looking directly at the first division commander. Marco took that as direction to sit down, so he did, and Deuce began pulling out disinfectant, medicinal ointments, and clean bandages and gauze. He turned to Marco when he had everything he needed, and the older pirate decided to remain silent as his companion treated his wounds.

It almost felt like an insult to ask if the young doctor was okay, because he so clearly wasn't, but Marco needed to talk to him about the situation they were in. Deuce knew Ace's personality better than anyone on the ship, and he was a doctor. He'd be invaluable in helping with Ace's recovery as well as whatever they chose to do beyond it.

Marco waited until Deuce had finished bandaging his injuries before speaking up, his hands clenching in his lap. "I can't imagine you'd be able to handle anymore shock, but we should discuss something."

Deuce was silent as he packed away the unused bandages and medicine. He seemed to take more time than necessary, organizing the contents carefully before picking his journal back into his hands.

"We do," he agreed finally. He was quiet for a moment longer, playing with the ends of the feather pen sticking out of the closed journal. "I've been thinking about it… I don't have much reason to stay on after we bury pops and…"

He didn't finish, let his sentence trail into the air. Marco didn't feel as nauseated by the comment as he expected to feel. Maybe because he’d been expecting it, or maybe because he knew Deuce would change his mind once he knew Ace was still alive.

"In the first place, I never wanted to be a pirate," Deuce rambled when Marco didn't respond, picking at his nails. "I only did it because Ace asked; because I wanted to write. In the beginning my goal was to travel on the seas and seek adventures that I could write about. Joining a pirate crew — or two as it were — wasn't part of my plan. It happened though, and it was fun while it lasted, but there's really no point…" he trailed off into silence again, scratching the back of his hand when picking his nails wasn’t enough to settle his nerves. "It's not as if I don't appreciate what you and everyone have done for me, and I respected pops as much as anyone could, I just think…"

"There are too many reminders," Marco offered when Deuce once again trailed off without finishing his sentence.

Deuce winced, pulling his lip between his teeth and gnawing on it thoughtfully. "I have journals full to bursting with our adventures," he said, and there was something reverently sad and soft in the way he said _our._ "There's still a lot I could write. I could find a nice island and settle down, spend my time fine tuning my logs. I want to make sure every detail is right. I want to make sure I'm not forgetting anything important."

His fingers trailed across the edges of the leather bound journal. Then used his fingertips to trace the letters scratched into the cover — put there by a reckless second division commander who thought it would be funny to mess with his friend's logbook.

"I'm tired…" Deuce said softly, simply, and Marco shut his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

"I know; but you can't rest yet." He stood up, leaning down towards Deuce so he wouldn't have to raise his voice. "I need you to help me with something important."

Deuce looked hesitant at the request. "What is it?"

"I need another doctor, someone trustworthy, to help with someone's recovery."

Deuce's face crinkled in more obvious reluctance. "Why me?"

"It can't be anyone else. You'll understand why when you see him."

Deuce heaved a sigh and grabbed his duffel bag from the deck at his feet, slinging it over his shoulder and shuffling around to face Marco. "Fine. Did they get hurt in the war? One of our guys? Who is it?"

"Yes, yes, and you'll see." Marco waved Deuce to follow, which he did, but he continued to drag his feet.

They paused in front of the infirmary, Marco let his hand linger on the handle before looking back at his fellow medic. "Just promise you won't scream," he said, and Deuce furrowed his brow. "I know about as much as anyone, which isn't much. Let's just be happy he's okay."

Deuce opened his mouth, probably to ask what the hell Marco was talking about. Nothing came out, and he followed Marco apprehensively into the infirmary, looking even more baffled when Marco locked the door behind them.

Marco kept his eyes on the young doctor's face when he pulled back the curtain around Ace's cot. He wanted to see the expression on Deuce's face, purely out of curiosity. He wasn't disappointed.

Deuce's eyes seemed to unfocus as they slowly took in the view. They followed the edges of the bed and stared blankly, like he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Then his nose scrunched up and he took a stagnant step closer. The bag fell from his shoulder the same time his book slipped from his fingers. Both items hit the floor with telling thuds. Deuce’s eyes flew over the scene in front of him: the blood transfusion, the IV bag, the bandages, and Ace. _Ace._

"What's going on? What is this? Why is Ace —"

"He's alive, Deuce."

Being bluntly honest was really the only way to go about it, but Marco did regret the terrified eyes that met his. Of course it made sense why the young man would be so afraid. Maybe this was a joke. Maybe Marco was playing a cruel prank. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was the one who had died and this was god’s cruel form of eternal paradise.

"What did you just say?"

"He's breathing. He lost an incredible amount of blood, but —"

"I saw it!" Deuce snapped; his hands shook in clenched fists at his sides. "You can't just — I saw it happen! I saw the wound! Why is he lying in a bed?! What the hell is going on?! You can't just — Ace is — he's —"

He was crying. Large tears were rolling down his face, not deterred by the mask he wore. His wide eyes were red and his teeth were grit, staring at Marco like he’d just broken his heart. Marco wondered numbly if this was the first time Deuce had _actually_ cried, or if he'd been in too much shock before.

Seeing his friend, whom he'd assumed dead, who _had_ been dead moments before, lying comfortably in bed, asleep, very much alive, must have opened the floodgates to the painful emotions Deuce had been ignoring.

Marco couldn’t answer anymore than Deuce could finish a sentence. For a time they simply stared at each other, Deuce in tears and Marco biting his cheek to keep from joining him.

Finally the distraught man moved, but it seemed as if he’d lost all strength in his legs. He stumbled, nearly tripping over his discarded duffel bag in his haste to reach the cot, staggering along Ace’s left side.

"Marco what's — how is this —" he staggered again, barely catching himself on the edge of the cot before pulling himself closer. He ended up halfway on the bed, and the hand he reached out to Ace trembled. He gave a hard sob when he pressed his fingers to Ace's neck. "Oh my gods…"

"I wish I could explain this," Marco said, pulling the curtain to hide the three of them. "He's still breathing?"

Deuce nodded sharply, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over Ace. "H — his injuries…"

"I've treated them. There's a small burn on his back and he lost a lot of blood. The worst is his chest, but his arm is pretty badly burned as well."

"But he's alive. _How?"_

"I… don't know how to explain it."

"Am I dreaming?" Deuce whispered, moving his hand from Ace’s neck to cup his palm against a freckled cheek. Like he wanted to feel the warmth, get close enough to hear him breathing.

"It's not a dream." Marco watched silently as Deuce took a moment to check the blood transfusion and IV before focusing back on Ace’s face and the steady pulse in his neck. “So you’ll stay?”

"Yes!” Deuce turned his head so quickly Marco worried he’d give himself whiplash. “Of course I'll stay! I have to! I swore I'd stay beside him, and after this…" he trailed off yet again and looked back at Ace. "He's gonna need as much support as he can get."

Marco couldn’t argue with that. “Red-Hair, his first mate, and his sniper all know. Other than them, you and I are the only ones.”

“Yeah… we have to be really cautious. Now more than ever.” Deuce pulled the sheets up higher over Ace. “The Navy and the World Government all saw him… _die…_ but he’s not dead. What’ll happen if they learn he’s alive? Will they come after him again?”

“To be honest… I get the feeling it’ll be worse than before. For now we need to form a plan, and before that we need to wait for Ace to wake up. I don’t want to make any decisions without him, since we’ll be deciding on his fate rather than our own.”

“We have to be careful who we discuss this with,” Deuce murmured absently before looking towards Marco. There were still tears in his eyes, and his voice held a note of tremor, but it was admirable that he was trying to formulate plans as soon as he saw they were needed. “I would say to include Jozu, but he’s still unconscious isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” Marco confirmed, rubbing his neck. “But Izou and Vista are on the ship with us. At the very least we can talk to them. The others are on the ship following us.”

“Then… just Vista and Izou.” Deuce decided. His gaze was sharp enough that Marco felt frozen. “Only them. I know it’s not fair to keep this from the entire crew, but if people not knowing is what will keep Ace safe, then fine. I’ll take responsibility if anyone doesn’t like it.”

“That’s big of you,” Marco said for lack of anything else to say.

Deuce didn’t seem to mind, his gaze softening as he looked back at Ace. “I don’t care,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around one of Ace’s hands, stroking his knuckles with a thumb. “If he’s really alive, and this really isn’t a dream… I’ll look after him. Can I?” He didn’t even look at Marco this time, not pulling his focus away from his sleeping friend.

“That is why I told you,” Marco said. “I’ll leave him to you for now and go speak with Izou and Vista. Come get me as soon as he wakes up.” He started for the door, holding the curtain back and staring at the cot where Deuce had decided to hold Ace’s hand with both of his own, eager, teary eyes glued to the other pirate’s face. “We’re going to have a lot to talk about once he’s conscious.”

Deuce didn’t answer, he must have stopped listening, so Marco shut the curtain and moved to tackle the next obstacle.


	2. Post Marineford — Part 2: Ace

It was quiet, but there was a comfortable warmth surrounding Ace that he was more than happy to sink into. Soft material was lying over him, something firm at his back, his head cushioned by something delightfully spongey — a pillow? There was a slight twinge of discomfort in his chest, and his right arm felt inexplicably cold compared to the rest of him (which was a bother), but despite that, he felt fully at peace. For a blissful moment, he had no memories of where he was or why.

When he inhaled, his chest rose, and he felt additional pressure against it. Not the tight, itchy feeling of bandages (though he could tell immediately that he was definitely wrapped in bandages), but something warm and alive. Someone was leaning against him. Ace felt a sudden jolt of confusion, but the panic barely registered before he realized instinctively who it was.

He could feel their comforting presence with his Haki, and he could smell the familiar scent of sanitizer, hand soap and ocean air that Masked Deuce had adopted since joining the medical wards on Whitebeard’s ship.

That must have been where he was, in the infirmary on the ship; and Deuce was caring for him as usual. He always did. Even when Ace’s injuries were more annoyances than real threats, Deuce was the one to insist on tending to him. He even seemed to get offended if Ace let someone else treat his wounds.

Well, that wasn’t really Ace’s fault though. Sometimes he couldn’t find Deuce, other times he just didn’t want to worry his friend. When the injury was really bad, which was rare but happened on occasion, Deuce was the last person Ace wanted to see; because he hated the expression the man wore when he saw his captain hurt. Fear, guilt, shame, as if he had been the one to raise a hand against Ace. The fool worried _all_ the time and blamed himself for _every_ tiny thing sometimes.

Ace pulled himself from his musings to test his ability to move. His left arm felt incapacitated, so he lifted his right arm instead, scrubbing at his eyes with his fingers and blinking them open against the dim lighting of the room. Almost immediately he took notice of the two needles and wires taped in place in his forearm. One was filled with something red, while the other was clear. He must have been injured pretty badly if he’d needed a blood transfusion.

Not feeling any immediate alarm, he laid his arm back against the cot at his side, then rolled his head to look left. That’s where Deuce was, but he didn’t look very comfortable. He was sitting awkwardly on the very edge of the cot, draped forward to bury his face against the sheets. His left hand was balled into a fist, clinging to the pristine white material, and his right hand was holding Ace’s left. He was hugging Ace’s arm like that, which would explain why the tired man couldn’t move it, but it wasn’t really uncomfortable or painful.

As a matter of fact, it was _very_ comfortable; and warm. Since when was Deuce that warm? It took Ace a moment more to notice that his partner was shivering subtly every few seconds, which played against the heat he was giving off and confused Ace further. He didn’t need Observation Haki to know Deuce wasn’t okay. Immediately Ace felt his priorities flip from wondering why he was hooked to a blood transfusion to worrying about why Deuce was shaking.

He moved his right hand, cringing because it made his head swim for some reason. His arm felt heavy, and the chill that went up to his shoulder from the IV fluids made him shiver. Ace gripped Deuce’s left shoulder, giving a soft squeeze that had no force behind it. To Deuce it probably felt like a nudge — Ace simply had no strength — but it was enough to get the man’s attention. Deuce shot bolt upright so fast that Ace’s vision blurred in his attempt to keep up with him.

He blinked his eyes rapidly to straighten his vision. By the time he could see Deuce’s face clearly, the doctor was leaning over him again, a hand on Ace’s shoulder and the other still clinging to Ace’s fingers.

“You’re awake, oh my god.”

“Deuce, hey,” Ace greeted quietly. His voice was rough and his throat was dry, so talking any louder would have made him cough a lung out. He managed to offer his partner a lopsided grin as Deuce stared down at him. “You cold or something? You’re shaking.”

That’s when he noticed the tear tracks staining Deuce’s face, and the pale blue eyes that were raw and reddened from crying. His face twisted and Ace was able to make out more tears forming before Deuce had buried his face against him again. This time his body moved with more than just shivers. Deuce’s shoulders heaved as he sobbed hard, and Ace’s eyes widened in complete shock.

In the three years he’d known Deuce, the only time he’d really seen him cry was when they were still stuck on Sixis together. It had been a vulnerable time for both of them, but Deuce had been the one to cry hard while sitting in the sand, thanking Ace over and over for sharing a vile tasting fruit with him. For essentially saving his life; but Deuce saved Ace’s life on that island too. He wondered for a moment if Deuce actually knew that.

The thought came and went fast. Ace struggled to focus through his still half asleep mind, grateful for his years of dealing with a younger brother who used to cry constantly. By now Ace knew how to comfort the distraught, but he’d never had to comfort Deuce like this before. It was different, and Ace felt more alarmed. He managed to get his left arm free to wrap it behind Deuce, holding the back of his head with his right hand and stroking his fingers through the doctor’s pale hair.

It felt instinctual to offer immediate comfort before inquiring about why it was needed. More than anything, Ace just wanted to calm his friend down. His eyes moved in a circle around the cot he was lying on, noting the curtain hiding him from the rest of the room. Was anyone else in the infirmary? Ace doubted Deuce would appreciate people seeing him like this.

“Hey, hey,” Ace soothed, rubbing Deuce’s shoulders. “You remember how to breathe, don’t you? You’re making yourself hyperventilate.”

He would use the same comment with Luffy when they were younger and his brother would have a crying fit. Though it took time for Ace to adapt to Luffy's constant crying, he'd needed to after Sabo's death. He went from scolding Luffy for crying to legitimately offering the younger boy comfort, and Luffy responded better to it. He'd grown out of his crying after a few short years.

Shit. _Luffy._ Where was Luffy?

Ace’s memories were slowly returning the more conscious and awake he became. The confusion became shock, and the calm turned into panic. Deuce was still crying against him. Ace set his jaw and hugged him tighter, cradling the back of his head.

He was worried about Luffy and had a million questions, but he needed to focus on one thing at a time.

“Water,” he said after a moment.

Deuce moved, lifting his head and rubbing his eyes on his arm. “What?” He croaked, speaking though he was still crying. “Oh, water, I’ll get some. You must be thirsty.”

“For you, not for me,” Ace clarified. “Drink something, you look horrible.”

Deuce didn’t even argue as he went to do as Ace told. That triggered another warning sign to blare in Ace's ears. Where were the comebacks and the sarcastic remarks Deuce usually had ready to fling at Ace at a moment's notice? Part of his charm was his ability to meet Ace move for move in regards to his chaotic comments and actions. Now he seemed almost lifeless, pulling the curtain open a fraction so he could retrieve a cup of water for himself.

He was still shaking when he came back to the cot with the drink, closing the curtain again and setting the glass down on a side table before rubbing his eyes roughly with the edge of his sleeve.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Ace pulled his elbows back and struggled to prop himself up. “Where am I?”

“Don’t move, lie back down,” Deuce scolded, stepping closer to the cot and reaching out to grip Ace by the shoulder. “You were badly hurt.”

Ace looked down at the starchy white bandages that were wrapped around his chest. He shifted his weight onto his left elbow, reaching his right hand up to touch the bandages. The drum of his own heartbeat could be felt under his fingertips, and he stared for a moment.

“Ace,” Deuce’s voice was gentle, squeezing Ace’s shoulder firmly, “do you remember anything?”

Ace didn’t like when that tone was being aimed at him. It was the same voice Deuce used with patients who were violently ill or terminal.

“Yeah, of course I remember,” Ace defended, spreading his fingers out to press his palm to his sternum.

“Tell me what you remember.”

Ace huffed and shook his head, but he searched through his mind for the right thing to say. He winced, pulling his hand away to stare at the bandages around his wrist. The phantom weight of Sea Prism handcuffs was still present on his skin. He sat straighter so he could rub at the bandages. Like he could scratch away the feeling of being chained if he dug his nails deep enough.

“Hey don’t do that,” Deuce scolded, taking both Ace’s hands and sitting on the edge of the cot. “Talk to me.”

“Marineford. I remember Marineford. They had me on the execution stand.”

Deuce breathed in through his teeth, holding it before giving a single nod of confirmation. “Remember how you got out of that?”

Ace thought for a moment before his lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, my idiot brother and his friend.” He leaned back against his left hand, continuing to stare down as he let the memories float to the surface of his thoughts.

The battle lasted hours, and for most of it Ace was helplessly chained to the execution platform. Completely powerless as he was forced to watch his crew, his family and closest friends, sacrifice themselves. All in order to save him. Ace shut his eyes and let the smile fall. He’d escaped execution twice. The first time Crocodile, the former Warlord, cut down the two executioners. The second time Luffy knocked the executioners out.

Conqueror's Haki. Luffy had used _Conqueror's Haki._ Ace’s heart swelled with pride and he reopened his eyes.

“He had the key. How did he get that fucking key?”

“I… don’t know,” Deuce admitted. “It broke though, that’s what I heard.”

“Yeah, Kizaru was a big help there," Ace's words dripped with sarcasm, "Luffy’s friend made a new key. I think he was a Devil’s Fruit user.”

“He was one of the inmates from Impel Down that broke out, a Wax man. He helped Marco too.”

“I see. I wish I could thank him.” Ace looked away from his chest finally to meet Deuce’s eye. “That’s how I got out of the cuffs. Luffy freed me just in time. That stupid brat…”

Deuce laughed, softly but genuinely. “You should’ve seen everyone’s faces when he fell from the _fucking sky._ I thought Skull’s mask was gonna fall off from shock.”

“Yeah,” Ace held his head, sighing. “He’s always been like that. He’s so stupid, the idiot. Breaking into Impel Down before going straight to Marineford.”

“He made an entrance people won’t soon forget,” Deuce said. “I kept trying to describe it in writing and it just wasn’t coming out right.”

Ace pulled his hand away from his head. “Do you know how he is?” He felt his heart race faster when Deuce frowned, dropping his eyes.

“We’ve been on the ship for two days,” he explained. “You’ve been sleeping the entire time. I don’t know where we’re headed, but — anyway, no one’s seen or heard from him since Marineford, and he hasn’t shown up in the paper, but I don’t think he’s… Jimbei was with him.”

“Deuce,” Ace stared at his friend closely, watching him scratch at his hands — something he only did when he was incredibly anxious. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Deuce’s hands froze, his nails digging into the wrist at the base of his palm. “One of the people he came to Marineford with, the tall guy? With the crown? I didn’t catch the name but… he said Luffy was pretty badly hurt. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. You went down… your brother went comatose. Jimbei had to grab him and run because he was unconscious. They got to the ice and…”

Ace was still trying to catch up with the vague statement “went down”. What did that mean? He went down? Like he got hurt and blacked out? Granted Ace didn’t remember a lot of what happened after pops split the courtyard in two, so it would make sense that he would’ve gotten hit and gone down before reaching the paddle ship. Then him getting hurt and blacking out made Luffy go into shock? That made sense, but fuck. This was _not_ the time for them to be separated. Ace needed to see him immediately so Luffy could see he was okay.

“What else?” Ace pushed for more detail.

Deuce rubbed his palms against his knees, his lips pressed together. “Akainu,” he said, and the name sent something through Ace; his chest hurt and he couldn’t breathe. “He managed to land a hit, but both Luffy and Jimbei got away with the Heart Pirates. I don’t know if you remember hearing about them, but their captain is a rookie worth two hundred million. Trafalgar Law, he’s a doctor. I’m pretty confident they’re okay but, again, we haven’t heard from them.”

“A hit,” Ace repeated, his voice rough. He was clinging to his chest, fingers digging into the bandages, pressing hard. He could feel a wound throbbing beneath the gauze, stinging the more pressure he put against it. “Akainu… he landed a hit on—on Luffy?”

Deuce continued to stare down as he gave a nod. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how bad it was, but the Commanders were there to stop him from finishing the job. The Heart’s ship is a submarine, so they got away underwater while Marco and the rest held off Akainu. Then Red-Hair and his crew showed up and… everything ended. I guess no one wanted to fight him, you know?”

Ace nodded, but he felt numb. He could see the battlefield past the calm of the room, feel his heart race in anger. He remembered now, how Akainu had mocked Whitebeard’s final order to his crew and allies — to his family: return to the New World in one piece; survive. Ace had grown furious and turned on the Navy Admiral despite the way his friends tried to hold him back. Reckless and stupid as ever, he went after Akainu and got burned.

He looked down at his left arm, which he was finally starting to realize was stinging. Akainu burned him, because his ability was hotter than Ace’s fire. Then, when Ace was down, clinging to his arm and trying to wrap his head around what had happened, Akainu turned on Luffy.

 _“The Pirate King_ — _Gold Roger. Dragon the Revolutionary. These two men’s sons being step-brothers is quite a frightening thought. Your fate has been decided. Regardless of who else gets away, I swear to never let you two escape. Now, take a good look…”_

Ace gasped, pain surging through him and body lurching forward. His stomach seemed to twist as he started to cough so hard he was gagging.

“Ace!” Deuce had him by the shoulders, holding him up. “Easy, you’re okay, just breathe.”

“He got me first,” Ace said, breathing heavily. “Akainu got me first. He went after Luffy and I—” Another coughing fit interrupted him.

Deuce reached over to the glass of water he’d brought for himself, pushing it towards Ace. “Drink, take a deep breath. Are you in any pain right now?”

Ace took the glass, drinking and trying to tame the burn in his throat. “My chest,” he said when he let Deuce take the glass back.

Deuce pressed his lips together. “Okay, I can get Marco to check your injuries.”

Ace looked at Deuce weakly. “Not you?” He asked, and Deuce’s eyes widened as he started stuttering.

“No—no I’ll be here too, I promise! It’s just, Marco, he’s the one who treated your wounds when we got you on—on the ship here. I was—I was doing something and — I mean I wasn’t ignoring you just — and everything happened so fast —”

“Deu, stop, stop, I’m not mad or anything,” Ace felt dumbstruck at how ashamed and frightened Deuce appeared. “It’s just that you’re normally the one who wants to fix me up when I get hurt, so I’m surprised you’re actually letting Marco take the lead.”

If possible, Deuce looked even more ashamed. He seemed to shrink, gritting his teeth and not meeting Ace’s eye. “I couldn’t — I haven’t seen it — I mean — you —”

He couldn’t even finish a sentence, stumbling and stuttering through his words, and all Ace could do was stare at him, baffled. After a few more moments of struggling, Deuce stopped trying to explain himself. Maybe he figured he didn’t need to. Maybe he figured he didn’t _deserve_ to. He stood up from the bed and set the glass back down.

“I’ll get Marco now, just wait for a minute.”

“I don’t—”

“Marco will explain everything.” Deuce turned sharply and pointed at Ace, his expression finally something Ace recognized. “Don’t get out of bed, don’t move, don’t mess with the tubes or the blood or the IV, just sit there patiently. Got that?”

“Yep,” Ace answered with a dutiful nod, and Deuce dropped his arm before turning and leaving through the curtain.

Ace waited until he heard a door shut before leaning against the pillows and dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling. Now that he was fully awake, Ace could feel the lingering pain of his injuries. His chest ached, his arm burned, and there was an uncomfortable itch at his back that he _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to reach. Not to mention the scrapes, cuts and bruises he’d received while in Impel Down, and the injuries he’d sustained fighting Blackbeard. His neck was sore. He wanted a massage and a hot shower; and some food. He needed to see Luffy and he needed to know what happened after Akainu knocked him out.

There was something nagging at the back of Ace’s thoughts, a voice saying there was more to it. A memory that was just at the corner of his mind waiting to resurface. What was Deuce not saying? What more was there to the war? What couldn’t Ace remember yet?

He lifted his head and sat straighter when he heard the door open and close again, relieved to see Marco appear from behind the curtain with Deuce. Ace held back the wince when he saw the bandages wrapped around Marco’s head. If _he'd_ had been hurt badly enough to need bandages, how were the rest of the crew doing?

Ace almost didn’t want to, but eventually turned his eyes to Deuce. He hadn’t noticed before since he’d been half asleep, but Deuce, like Marco, was bandaged up. His head, his hands, his stomach; he’d been in the war just like Marco, though fighting was barely a second thought in Deuce’s mind. He could hold his own when necessary, and he’d been in plenty of fights since joining Ace, but against Navy Headquarters? He could’ve died so easily, and Ace suddenly felt horrified.

“Marco, hey,” Ace greeted, though he was still staring at Deuce. He blinked and tore his gaze away to watch Marco approach.

The other commander looked a little more put together than Deuce had been to see Ace awake, but maybe that was because he was used to this kind of thing. “I’m glad you’re finally awake. We’ve been worried.”

“How is everyone?” Ace asked when Marco reached out to check the IV.

“It’s been a lot,” Marco answered, which seemed like a shitty answer, and Ace was about to say so when Marco turned to him. “Deuce said your chest was hurting.”

“Oh.” Ace touched his chest. “It was a second ago, but I mean—”

“No arguing or saying you’re fine now,” Marco scolded. “You got too badly hurt to successfully pull that off with us right now.”

Ace was both frustrated that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this and taken aback at how serious Marco sounded. He understood that he was hurt badly, especially if Akainu had been the one to hit him, but did Marco have to be such a killjoy?

“It’s about time for me to redress the wound anyway,” Marco said, and Deuce began moving in and out of the curtain until he had several rolls of bandages, large squares of gauze, medicinal ointment, clean syringes, and bottles of liquid drugs all set out on a table beside the bed. “It’s a pretty bad wound, so it’ll be uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Ace pushed the sheets back so he could move into a better position.

His instinct told him to make a joke, or tease Marco, but the atmosphere of the room didn’t feel right. Marco was calm, but he still looked too serious, so Ace decided to bite his tongue for now. He sat on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floorboards, waiting patiently and feeling uncomfortable with how quiet the infirmary was.

“Is there anyone else in the room?” Ace asked finally as Marco stood behind him for a better angle to cut away the bandages from around his chest.

“Just you,” Deuce answered. He was standing beside Ace, holding a few items for Marco. “We’re on Red-Hair’s ship right now, and none of his guys got hurt, so you’re the only one who needed to be here.”

“Are any of our crew on board?”

“Izou and Vista came along,” Marco answered. “Everyone else is following on the paddle ship and with our allies.”

“That doesn’t sound too terrible,” Ace murmured, though he definitely remembered watching their beloved _Moby Dick_ burn to ash during the war. He decided not to bring it up. “It’s been two days?”

“Going on three. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to wake up so soon.”

“Well, I live to exceed expectations and or to disappoint them,” Ace said, and Marco murmured in response.

“Fair enough.”

Ace didn’t look immediately when Deuce helped Marco peel away the bandages around his chest. He held his arms up to make it easier and stared straight ahead. The gauze pulled at the edges of the wound, and Ace bit onto his lip to stifle the pathetic noise that threatened to spill out.

“The burn on your back doesn’t need too much treatment,” Marco said as he worked. “It’s the one on your chest I’m really concerned about, but so long as we keep it clean and covered it should be fine. I’m also going to start giving you a series of antibiotics to stay off any possible infection. Since you’re awake I’m going to take you off the IV drip and the transfusion. Right now you just need a little patience. Two weeks of complete rest.”

“I’m not allowed to walk around much, I take it.”

“That is what complete rest means.”

“It’s weird,” Ace mumbled. “I mean, I’m still putting together what happened, but my back was to Akainu, wasn’t it?” Ace felt Marco pause behind him. “When I went to protect my brother I mean? You said my chest was the worst and there was only a burn on my back.” He straightened. “Is my tattoo damaged?” Deuce winced at the question, doing everything he could to avoid Ace’s questioning eyes. “It is, isn’t it?”

Marco walked around the bed, pulling a chair closer and sitting down in front of Ace, taking his right arm in order to carefully ease the needles from his veins. “Akainu got you from behind,” he was explaining, eyes locked on his task. “He was going for Luffy but you were fast enough to block the punch.”

“I distinctly remember not blocking very well the first time,” Ace said, holding his left arm out to indicate the bandages there.

Marco took that as an invitation to cut away the bandages and peel them away, revealing large, uneven burns that were scattered along his forearm. “You didn’t block the punch exactly,” Marco admitted. “Well… you protected Luffy, but blocking the attack would imply you weren’t hurt either. Akainu landed his blow on you instead of Luffy.” He was clinging to Ace’s hand, staring down at the floorboards.

The room became eerily quiet then. Ace could sense that Marco was going to say more, so he waited, but the temperature in the infirmary seemed to be dropping. Marco’s hand quivered, Ace never would have noticed if the man wasn’t clinging to his fingers. Deuce had turned away, his shoulders hunched, one hand raised to his face. Neither of them were looking at him, and that made Ace anxious. He swallowed the knot that had formed in his throat.

“And?” he coaxed Marco to continue.

Marco squeezed his hand again, lifting his head to meet Ace’s eye. He looked tired, Ace realized, like he’d aged ten years. “Akainu’s punch went through you. Your internal organs were burned away completely or damaged beyond repair.”

The words brought back the rest of the memories that had been flickering at the edges of Ace’s consciousness like wisps of smoke. He recalled the pain, how every inch of him burned. How his throat filled with blood and his vision blurred. How he fell to his knees, collapsing against Luffy. The pain turned to numbness in an instant, the feeling in his legs fading. He remembered what he said to Luffy. He remembered his vision going black.

He remembered darkness and cold.

Ace’s hand was hovering above his chest, eyes falling from Marco’s face to glance down. The wound there was mundane compared to what Ace remembered. Located directly in the middle of his chest.

“I died,” Ace said bluntly, looking up for confirmation. Marco’s grim expression was answer enough. Ace gave a nervous laugh. “Hang on, I… I remember what happened but… this isn’t a fatal wound. I mean, it hurts, but it’s not… bad enough to kill me; but I remember it! I died!”

“You did,” Marco agreed. “You were dead. Your heart stopped, you weren’t breathing, there was a hole going through you from your chest to your back… but you’re alive.”

“How?! What — I don’t understand. What happened? Did someone do something? Was it like a — a time manipulating Devil’s Fruit user? Is there a Time Time Fruit? Wait hold on, shut up.” Ace held both hands up, focusing on his fingertips, searching for the heat that was almost always just hidden beneath the surface of his skin. He called to his fire, urging it to light up his fingers. Anxiety was the only thing that flared when nothing happened. "My Devil's Fruit," he said numbly, splaying his fingers and gaping at his hands in disbelief. "I can't... make fire."

Marco paled a shade. "I was wondering if you would retain the ability, but I wasn't sure," he admitted weakly. "I suppose... since you did technically die, the power died too."

"What am I supposed to do?" Ace asked softly. He felt like yelling the question, but couldn't seem to find his voice. This was all too much to wrap his head around at once.

Ace had died and come back to life, but in return he'd lost his Logia powers.

"Normally Devil's Fruit will be reborn after its user's death," Marco tried to reassure Ace. "There's a chance it will show up again on the Grand Line, and if that happens you can just go after it again. Right?"

Ace rubbed his palms against his knees. "Yeah. Yeah." Though he wasn't so sure it would be that easy.

He'd lost the power because he'd been too weak to keep it. Was he even worthy of trying to seek it out again? It's not like it belonged to him. Ace was merely one of the many users of the Mera Mera. He was sure that somewhere, in some library or log, there was documentation of other users. Users who died long before him, and were probably much more skilled with the flames than he had been. Still, Ace felt empty without the fire. He hadn't felt this cold in a long time. He tried to refocus on the initial problem, taking a few breaths.

“I still don’t understand. I died, but I feel pretty alive right now. How?”

Marco leaned back and searched around in his pocket, pulling out a small glass vial and handing it to Ace. “That’s how.”

Ace held the little bottle up to see the contents better. Inside were what looked like a dozen small blue gemstones. They were honestly beautiful, but they didn’t really look like medicine.

“Diamonds?” Ace guessed, and Marco shook his head.

“They’re tears.”

“Tears,” Ace held the vial at an angle, watching the little blue pearls slide along the glass, catching the light and glittering. “They look like diamonds.”

“I’ll show you.” Marco took the vial back, uncorking it and carefully pouring out one of the "tears". He handed the vial over to Deuce before reaching for Ace’s left arm. “Don’t freak out.”

“Oh, good, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Marco dropped the gem towards Ace’s arm, and where Ace waited for it to bounce off uselessly, bump his injury and cause him some level of pain or discomfort, it did the last thing he would’ve expected. The instant it touched his arm, it broke from the tiny ball it was in and flickered into a blue fire. It engulfed a small area and burned there long enough for Ace to go speechless before regaining his senses enough to speak.

“It’s cold,” was all he could say, watching the fire shrink before flickering and disappearing.

The small section of his arm that was burned was completely healed. There wasn’t even a scar. Ace pulled his arm back and reached over to touch the newly healed skin with his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb before gaping at Marco.

Marco took the vial back from Deuce, holding it out for Ace to see. “It’s some compact form of my healing flames,” he explained, looking about as confused as Ace felt. “I still don’t really understand it, but they’re powerful. When we got you on the ship, I was the one tending to you. I broke down, but instead of tears, I cried these; I cried fire. It healed you. More than that, it brought you back to life. I don’t know how, or why, and I certainly don't know if I can do it again. What I do know, after some testing, is that these don’t work on anyone else.”

Ace swallowed around the knot in his throat, not at all understanding what was happening. Marco brought him back to life? Was that even possible? Ace didn’t know his Devil’s Fruit could do that, but Marco didn’t either. Was this real?

“What—what do you mean they don’t work on anyone else?”

Marco lowered his hand, staring down at the vial. “I think maybe because you were the one I was crying for. I tried to heal other people with these, but it didn’t work. They only work on you.”

“So… that’s why I’m not dead,” Ace guessed, and Marco nodded. Ace felt something tighten around his heart, and for the first time since waking up, he could feel a sting in his nose. “Marco…”

“Despite how little I understand of this, despite what may happen in the future, I’m grateful.” Marco reached out, setting the vial on the little table that Deuce had rolled over before picking up a few items. “I’m a doctor, so healing people is my job. Our goal going into Marineford was to save you, and thanks to this ability, we were able to do that.” He started to rebandage Ace’s chest, talking as he worked. “Everyone was in agreement, you know. Pops informed everyone that they didn’t have to go, he knew the risks of casualties, but whenever he told our allies that they didn’t have to come with us, they told him to be quiet. They told him of course they’d join us. The possibility of casualties didn’t make any difference to us or to our allies, because the end goal was you.” Marco secured the bandages and set a reassuring hand on Ace’s shoulder, meeting his eye. “Saving your life, bringing you home where you belonged, was worth the risk.”

Ace’s heart was going so fast he could feel it in his throat. He’d sunk his teeth into his bottom lip to keep the emotions in check, but it was hard to ignore the sting in his eyes. “Pops…” he whispered, and Marco shut his eyes, bowing his head.

“The one thing I can regret in this situation is that he didn’t know you’d be okay,” Marco said gently, and Ace’s breath hitched. “But you should’ve seen him, Ace,” Marco reached his other hand out so he could grip both Ace’s shoulders. “You should have seen him go against Akainu when he put you down. I’ve known pops longer than anyone, and I have never, _never_ seen him so angry. He very nearly slaughtered Akainu for what he did. I think Pops assumed he _had_ killed Akainu, or he would’ve gone after him again. You were his son, Ace. He loved you so much. You _are_ his son. _All of us_ love you. You need to see it. The way people are mourning you right now.”

Ace felt his emotions halt, though a tear had managed to sneak out of his eye and trace down his cheek. “Wait, they don’t know? They don’t know I’m alive?”

Marco pressed his lips together. “The world thinks you're dead. The circumstances of you being alive are so uncertain, we don’t know enough. If they find out you’re alive then they could come after you again. If they found out why, they could come after me. Pops’ sacrifice would really be in vain then.” Ace winced, looking away. “The only people who know are Deuce, Izou, Vista, Red-Hair, his vice captain and sniper, and me.”

Ace was going to question it, to say he was happy Shanks was there but the others needed to know as well, and to ask who else was hurt, but one thing stood out to him more than the rest.

“Oh god,” Ace dropped his face into his hands. “No, fuck, god, _Luffy._ He saw me—he saw me fucking _die.”_

“Ace—”

“I need to see him,” Ace stood up, swaying dangerously on his feet but remaining upright. “I need to see him _now.”_

“We don’t know where he is—"

“Then find out!” Ace yelled at Marco, his voice raising with his panic. “I need to see him! He needs to see me! He needs to know I’m alive! Akainu… Akainu hurt him. God, he got so hurt, and he saw me die, and—”

“You need to sit down!” Marco insisted, trying to grab Ace’s arms to calm him down. “Listen, I understand you’re worried—”

“No, you _don’t_ understand! You have no _idea!_ We already lost one brother! _Luffy_ already lost one brother! I am the only thing he had left! He needs to know I’m alive!”

“Ace!” Deuce had him by the arm, one hand pressing to his chest. “Breathe!”

_Breathe. Breathe._

Ace did so, inhaling sharply, and the burn that was in his lungs began to subside. With it came a feeling of pure exhaustion, and his knees buckled under his weight. Deuce caught him before he could fall, lowering him to sit on the cot. Marco wore a calm expression, taking a step closer to join Deuce in trying to relax Ace.

“Listen to me. You’re still injured. You can’t just jump up and run around.”

“Luffy,” Ace’s voice was weak, tears swimming in his eyes and blurring his vision. “He put himself through so much just to get to me. He broke into Impel Down, he fought Magellan, he—he could have died. He fought in a war. He’s just a kid. He’s just a stupid reckless child. He did all of that just to save my life, because we already lost one brother and he couldn’t lose me too.” Ace reached his right hand over to grab his upper arm, digging his nails into the tattoo set deep in his skin; the X over the S that Ace had only ever given vague explanations for.

The crew knew it was a memorial for his late brother, but that was it. They didn’t know the true significance of wearing Sabo’s Jolly Roger on his body, permanently marking it into his skin as a companion alongside his own name. They didn’t know how Sabo had died, what his name was, when it had happened. They knew his brother was dead and that was it, because Ace could never bring himself to say more. It hurt too much to tell the whole story, even though ten years had passed.

“He couldn’t lose me too, but he did, and he saw it happen,” Ace whispered, his words laced with shame, burying his face in his hands. “I let my little brother endure hell before dying in his arms. I wasn’t strong enough in the end, even though I promised to look after him. I’m pathetic. I’m fucking scum. He needs me now more than ever and what am I doing? He’s my little brother, he’s everything to me. I need to be there. My little brother…”

Ace was so deep in his pain that he barely felt it when arms wrapped around him, one crossing his chest and the other folding behind his shoulders to bring him into a secure embrace. Ace chanced a look between his fingers, recognizing the dark green of Deuce’s jacket before pinching his eyes shut again. His partner said nothing, offered no words of reassurance or encouragement; simply held him. Ace cried harder. With each tear that escaped he could feel another weight settling onto his shoulders.

Almost everyone Ace cared about was mourning his death because it was too dangerous for them to know he was alive. He'd lost the one power he had that could have made him worth something — the Logia abilities that had brought him so far on the Grand Line and aided in his high bounty. His body ached and protested every movement he made, and he cursed his weakness, the fact that despite his Logia abilities and his training with Whitebeard, minimal though it had been, he still hadn’t been able to completely protect Luffy and keep himself safe. He’d made a promise not to die, to look after Luffy, and he failed.

Ace trusted Luffy’s friends. He’d met them and he liked them, he knew they were strong and capable and that Luffy would be okay in the end, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Ace was alive. Did Marco really expect him to sit back and do nothing when he was _alive_ and _breathing_ while his little brother was _suffering?_

Whitebeard was dead, so many of his friends and allies were dead, and Luffy was hurt, because of _him;_ because he had the audacity to be born, and to continue living despite knowing the burden that he put on people. Even now when everyone thought he was dead, they were still burdened by him.

“I’m sorry,” Ace choked out through his tears, refusing to move his hands away from his face. “This is all my fault. I should’ve listened to Pops when he told me to let it go. I shouldn’t have gone after Teech. None of this would have happened.”

“You don’t know that,” Marco soothed. “You don’t know what could’ve happened if things had gone differently.”

“It’s my fault,” Ace repeated miserably.

Deuce tightened his embrace, readjusting the arm behind Ace’s back so he could drag his fingers through black hair. He pulled Ace closer so his head was cushioned against him. Ace wanted to pull away, to reject the comfort he felt he didn’t deserve, but he couldn’t help the way he turned against Deuce, hiding his face against his friend’s shoulder.

He reached blindly and brushed his fingers across the bandages on Deuce’s stomach. The other man tensed momentarily, but his grip around Ace merely tightened, his hand burying deeper into Ace’s hair when his sobs got heavier. He had no right to seek comfort from this man, especially when he’d been hurt during the war. Ace kept trying to remember if he’d seen Deuce on the battlefield, but the entire thing had been so chaotic.

Smoke and dust had obscured much of Ace’s view, and he’d been so busy trying to follow Luffy’s movements that he was scared of looking away even for a moment. Where had Deuce been while Ace was locked on the execution platform? What had happened to him? How’d he get hurt? _Who_ had hurt him?

Ace grit his teeth, wrapping his arms around Deuce as carefully as he could to avoid irritating his injuries.

“I’m still so weak,” Ace whispered so quietly he didn’t think anyone heard him, but Deuce tensed again, rubbing a hand up and down his back and stroking his fingers across his scalp. “I can’t protect anyone; not even myself.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Deuce whispered back. “You’re not always required to protect yourself. That’s why you have us; and you’re not weak, Ace. How can you even think that? You really are an idiot.”

“M’ sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Deuce muttered. “I never said I wanted you to change. After three years, I’ve gotten used to it.”

Ace felt a flicker of warmth split through the cold at Deuce’s words, though he didn’t vocally respond to them. He squeezed the material of Deuce’s coat in his fists and pressed his eyes firmly into his collarbone, but that was the only sign he gave that he’d heard the man.

“I have to go check on some of our crew on the paddle ship behind us,” Marco said, addressing Deuce. “Can you take care of his arm?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Try and get him to sleep when you’re done, he needs the rest. Ace, we can talk more once you’re awake. I’ll bring in Izou and Vista next time, we still have to discuss what our next move is.”

Ace nodded his head but said nothing, waiting until he heard the door shut before bothering to detach himself from the embrace. Deuce held strong, hands slipping to Ace’s shoulders as Ace rubbed his eyes, sniffing.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Deuce said gently. “I swore to you that I’d be by your side, no matter what life you chose to live. I’ll be here through everything. Even this.”

Ace continued to scrub at his eyes, trying to rub away the tears that just kept coming. He felt heavy, and tired, he was in pain and he just wanted something to latch onto. Even if he didn’t deserve it, which he didn’t think he did. He wanted to see Luffy, wanted to hold him until he was convinced his little brother was okay.

Pathetically, he wanted to see Sabo. He wanted to see that carefree, slightly off kilter grin that had come up with so many reckless plans at such a young age. He wanted to fall into a pile of three and laugh until he was sick, get so tangled up he couldn’t remember which arm was his and which belonged to his brothers. He wanted their warmth and security, but knew he couldn’t have it.

Ace reached up to touch the hand Deuce still had on his shoulder. His fingers brushed the bandages there, curling around and squeezing Deuce’s hand. He held on for dear life, letting his head sag in misery and watching his tears fall from his eyelashes to dot the white sheets gray.

Deuce still needed to rebandage his burned arm, but he didn’t push Ace or try to rush him through whatever he was dealing with. He sat there and waited, offering Ace’s hand a squeeze and staying gratefully silent. He really didn’t need to say anything though. Just being there, close enough for Ace to feel his presence, was more than enough for now.


	3. Post Marineford — Part 3: Ace

Time felt slow and ineffectual, like fate was determined to give Ace an anxiety disorder. Sleeping was a challenge. Even when Marco or Deuce offered him medicine, he instinctively fought against unconsciousness. His rest hadn’t been plagued by nightmares like he’d been expecting, rather being awake was what bothered him the most, but he still couldn’t seem to settle down enough to really sleep.

He was always tossing and turning on the cot, scratching at the bandages around his wrists or rubbing his chest. Though it rarely hurt, the itchiness and tightness of his skin as the wound healed was terrible to deal with. Nothing helped settle Ace’s nerves. His mind was too chaotic; he couldn’t stop thinking. The only time he slept was when his exhaustion finally caught up to him. When that happened, he would simply black out, normally in an awkward position that Deuce would later scold him for.

Despite his problems with sleeping, Ace was alert when Marco finally brought in Izou and Vista. Ace felt a damning rush of relief when he laid eyes on his fellow Commanders, and the only reason he didn’t break down crying (again) was because they didn’t. Though judging by their eyes, Ace imagined they probably didn’t have any tears left. Which was upsetting on an entirely different level, but Ace pushed it aside to focus on his friends.

They brought him gifts of food, and despite his physical condition, Ace was more than happy to partake in the meal. He sat cross legged at the head of the cot with his pillows piled behind him, enjoying the spread that his crewmates had laid out on the bed as if it were a table. They sat in chairs around him, Marco and Izou on the right, Deuce and Vista on the left. Deuce was redressing the burn on his arm, which Ace didn’t mind, but it made it difficult to eat when he only had one free hand.

“We’re about two days from the appointed island,” Vista was saying, his arms folded and a fishbone hanging from his mouth. “We’ll be holding a funeral for pops there.”

Ace chewed slower, staring into his cup of water where his own face reflected on the surface. He hadn’t wanted to ask about that, but figured they’d have one. Whitebeard deserved to be put to rest with a grand funeral ceremony. Though Ace doubted they’d let him join.

“To keep up appearances, Red-Hair recommended we build a memorial for you next to pops,” Marco said, watching Ace carefully. “The coffin would be empty, but it would help keep the Navy and the Government from prying into it.”

Ace felt his stomach twist. He struggled to swallow down the seared meat, lifting his cup to ease his mouthful down with water.

“I know it probably sounds demented to do something like that, and I’m not exactly happy about it, but —”

“It’s fine,” Ace interrupted Marco, lowering the cup. “No one can know I’m alive, right? It would be dangerous to everyone, especially you.” He gave Marco a pointed look, but his attempt to be strict probably came off as indignant and silly. “To be honest, you’re the one I’m worried about. I’m alive, yippee, but if people find out the most they’ll do is try to kill me again. If they find out how you managed to bring me back, the Government is gonna lock you in a cell and poke you with needles for the rest of your life.”

Marco leaned back in his seat, arms crossing. “I very much appreciate the visual, Ace —”

“Anytime.”

“— but I’ve never had an issue staying under the radar before, and though technically speaking I’m supposed to be acting captain — which would put me on a front list — it won’t be a problem so long as _you_ keep your nose clean.”

Ace tilted his head. “I get the distinction you’re trying to tell me something.”

Marco rolled his eyes and Vista snickered.

“I get it,” Ace continued, looking back at his water with great interest. “I don’t like the idea of hiding and letting the world think I’m dead, it feels cowardly, but… the way I am now, it wouldn’t take long for them to snuff me out again if I rush back into the limelight with fists blazing. Especially considering I can no longer make my fists blaze… Plus it would be really dangerous for you, and for the rest of the crew. If I gotta keep my head down for a little to ensure everyone’s safety, then I can do that.” He glanced over at Marco with a crooked grin. “Just do me a favor and make my memorial look nice.”

“Well, Red-Hair is taking charge of that detail,” Marco admitted, eyes flickering over to Deuce, “but Deuce said he’d design the graves.”

Ace turned his head to look at his friend, who was suddenly paying close attention to the act of pinning the bandages in place so they wouldn’t come undone around Ace’s arm. His shoulders were tense and his brow was furrowed, lips tightly pressed together. Ace noted the dust of pink on his cheeks and arched an eyebrow.

“You’re designing the graves?”

The flush of embarrassment darkened. “It’s not like I’m doing it by myself! I just wanted to make sure no one messed it up!”

“The faith you hold in us is overwhelming,” Izou said, and Deuce folded his arms, hunching forward.

Ace pulled his newly bandaged arm closer, rubbing it and grinning at their skilled gunman. “Aw don’t tease him, I think it’s sweet.”

“Anyway,” Marco neatly steered the conversation back. “Since you’re still recovering I want you to rest, but I know you’ll probably want to visit pops later, so after everyone’s filed off, you can stop by the gravesite.”

Ace hummed, peeling chunks of fish away from a grilled fillet and nibbling on it. “Yeah.”

“After that… to be honest I’m not sure. It’ll take the crew a while to get back on their feet. We all need time to recover. I don’t think it would be very safe for you to stay with us when we’ve only got one ship left.”

“Plus with pops gone,” Izou started, staring dimly across the room, “who knows what parts of our territory have already been picked off? We have no idea which of our islands is still safe and protected. With our crew and our allies in shambles, we don’t have nearly enough resources or strength to reach every inch of our territory.”

“The papers started putting out articles almost immediately,” Vista handed over a newspaper, which Ace took reluctantly. “Pirates have been flooding into the Grand Line, and our islands have been getting ransacked. Our flag means nothing anymore.”

“I want to regroup and discuss the situation with the whole crew,” Marco had his elbows on his knees, hands folded together, “so we can figure out what’s best as a group. At the very least I wanted to talk to the Commanders.”

“I can’t help… can I?” Ace asked, setting the paper down without reading more than the headline of his and Whitebeard’s deaths. “You guys don’t plan on letting me.”

“Our priority one is keeping you protected until you’ve fully recovered from your injuries,” Vista explained with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what was happening (though he was certainly as lost as the rest of them).

“Though right now none of us really have the means to protect you,” Izou added realistically, and Ace fought to hide the wince.

Deuce must have noticed it, because he reached out to Ace’s arm with the implication that he was yet again checking the bandages. He straightened a few strips of gauze winding around Ace’s forearm while gripping his fingers with his free hand. Ace gave a squeeze back to show his appreciation.

“So in this situation,” Ace started, turning the paper over to hide the horrific photographs painting the front page — the fact the government had allowed them to print pictures of his corpse in a newspaper that _children_ might see was disgusting, “either find an island to hide out on, disguise myself somehow, or maybe take on a new name and go from there?”

“Something like that,” Marco agreed.

“Let’s name you something birdy,” Vista offered, pointing. “I mean, you’re technically a phoenix like Marco now. You burned and were reborn from your own ashes thanks to his ability. You’re a bird now!”

Ace pressed his lips together, matching Marco’s unamused expression. “I think I’ll just keep my actual name, thanks.”

“What island would be safe enough to hide on until things settled down then?” Deuce broke into the conversation, looking up from Ace’s arm to glance around at the four Commanders. “We can’t stay in our territory, and going into Kaido or Big Mom’s territory would be suicide. There are too many Marines and Government officials flooding the Grand Line, so it’s not safe enough to sneak back across the Red Line, and I don’t think we’d be able to get through the Calm Belt to hide out in one of the four blues.”

“So by process of elimination, you’re at the mercy of Red-Hair Shanks,” Marco said, rubbing his chin with his thumb. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, to be frank.”

Ace frowned, looking away to stare down at the sheets. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Shanks in years. Not since their initial meeting after the Spades had entered the New World.

According to Marco, a few weeks after Ace had left the ship to hunt down his former subordinate, Shanks had appeared at the _Moby Dick_ for an audience with Whitebeard. The purpose for his visit was to request that Whitebeard stop Ace from going after Teech, to drag him back if need be.

Shanks saw it before anyone else did, Ace thought wearily, recalling the conversation he’d shared with the man during their first meeting.

_“It was the Whitebeard pirates who put this scar on me.”_

_“It was Whitebeard?!”_

_“No. It was just a pirate under his employ.”_

_“What’s he doing now?”_

_“Dunno. I haven’t felt this wound itch in a while…”_

Ace wondered if it had itched when Blackbeard killed Thatch. Ace wondered if Shanks had woken in a cold sweat that same night, gripping his face, knowing something horrible had happened. With his powerful Haki, Ace didn’t doubt it. That was probably how he knew something was wrong, because the scar on his face had stung him like a warning signal.

Ace’s stomach rolled as he swallowed around his suddenly too-dry mouth, his grip tightening around Deuce's hand. Even Kotatsu had been wary of Blackbeard, growling and wrapping around Ace whenever the large man had lumbered near him. Ace had been entirely oblivious to the danger, even though Blackbeard had pretty much confessed before Ace had even joined the crew.

During one of his first missions off the boat, sharing drinks with Thatch and Teech and bringing up Shanks’ scars. Thatch had been baffled to learn someone from Whitebeard’s crew had been the one to land that kind of blow.

_“It wasn’t even a division leader, right? If one of them had done it, that would’ve been a big deal. You know about this, Teech?”_

_“About what?”_

_“Someone on the crew put a scar on Red-Hair’s face, apparently. I just can’t believe-”_

_“That was me.”_

A disbelieving silence stretched between the trio before Blackbeard had brushed the comment off. Neither Thatch nor Ace had believed him, but they should have. They should have been wary like Shanks.

The moment he heard Ace was hunting Blackbeard, he made steps to try and stop him, to protect him, though they’d only met once.

Ace wanted to think it was because Shanks had Luffy’s wellbeing in mind, but there was a nagging at the back of his head that said there was more to it. Why would Shanks risk meeting Whitebeard, incurring the wrath and suspicion of the world, to bring Ace back safe, just for a snot nosed seven year old he met ten years ago? Did Shanks really care that much? Or was there more to it?

Ace’s parentage had been put on display for all to see in the same edition of the newspaper that boasted his murder, and Sengoku had announced to the entire Navy who Ace was, but did Shanks know?

Ace definitely hadn’t told him. He’d decided early on that he wouldn’t confide in anyone about his blood, especially not someone directly linked to Roger and his crew. Shanks had been an apprentice under Ace’s father, he’d known the man for years, but so few people had known about Ace or Rouge. Ace didn’t _want_ anyone to know, but if Shanks had been unaware of it before, then there was no doubt he knew the truth now.

The idea that he would protect Ace in his territory simply for being Rogers' son made him feel nauseous. A bitter piece of him was ready to spit and scratch until Marco and the others had agreed to let him return to the paddle ship where his crew was waiting. Someone pitying him for his blood was the last thing he would tolerate, and if Shanks tried it, Ace was going to have a fit.

Yet the more logical side of him knew that wherever the kindness came from, considering the situation he was currently in, Ace needed to accept it. He had no other options, and at least Shanks was a decent human judging by his reputation. Plus, Luffy idolized him. The man had saved his baby brother’s life once, and if Ace could trust anyone’s instincts, it was Luffy’s. He was reckless and an idiot, but his ability to read people was unmatched.

It was probably Haki, Ace realized. Some juvenile, underdeveloped form of Observation Haki. Ace felt he should have expected Luffy to have such an aptitude for it, especially considering who his father and grandfather were. Luffy had always been bursting with potential. With a little bit of training, Ace could see him becoming unstoppable.

If Ace wanted to be there when that happened, to watch Luffy grow into the man Ace knew he would be, then he needed to be ready. He needed to get stronger so he could watch his little brother’s back like he swore he always would. He needed to be better than he was, even if it meant fighting his pride to accept help from someone who potentially had alternative reasons.

In the end, who cared if Shanks would only accept to help Ace because of his connection to Roger? If it gave Ace the time and opportunity he needed to get stronger — and he’d need to get _much_ stronger now that he didn’t have his Mera Mera abilities to use as a crutch — then fine. He was willing to ride his father’s coattails just this once. For Luffy’s sake.

“If that’s how it is,” Ace said finally, dragging a plate of shellfish and Sea King meat closer with renewed vigor. “I’ll talk to Shanks myself later, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You sure?” Marco frowned. “I don’t mind.”

“I wanted to ask him something anyway.”

“Just remember your manners,” Vista cautioned. “He’s a reasonable man, and we owe him for helping us at Marineford, but he’s still a Yonko like pops. He’s not someone you want to make mad.”

Ace snorted through his mouthful. “I know that already, but pardon me for not shaking in my boots at the sight of him.”

“That’s okay, you’re naturally an idiot, it can’t be helped.” Marco patted Ace’s arm, not reacting to the searing glare Ace shot at him.

“I’ll wait till after the funeral,” Ace decided. “I want to figure out what to say to him first.”

“You’re not planning to go up to him half cocked with a semi-formulated request and absolutely no plan?” Izou questioned.

Ace decided not to comment, choosing instead to fling a bone at Izou and nailing him in the forehead with it. Vista busted up cackling as Izou wiped his forehead clean with a scowl.

“Anyway,” Marco continued before Izou could lash back with the plate of fish he’d picked up and start a food fight in the infirmary. “We have a tentative plan at least. I’ll let you talk with Shanks, but get some rest first.”

“Yeah, yeah, let me finish eating.”

“At least your appetite has remained intact, ey?” Vista noted. “You not eating would’ve made us worry for real.”

“The three of us should head over to the paddle ship to discuss the funeral,” Marco stood up, setting a hand on Ace’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll stop by again later.”

“You should eat something too,” Ace commented when his fellow commanders had left the room, pushing a plate closer to Deuce.

“I ate earlier,” Deuce said, sitting back in his seat with his arms folded. “You finish, then lie down. You haven’t been sleeping much.”

“I’m aware,” Ace muttered into his cup.

Deuce sat straighter. “Do you want to try some other medicine? Not sleeping is going to start to affect your healing. If you want I can talk to Marco about giving you a sedative, but we’ll have to use it sparingly.”

“I don’t need to use any drugs,” Ace said. “I still sleep, I just… gotta wait till I’m tired enough.”

“You mean you plan on staying awake until your mind and body are so exhausted that you shut down? I don’t think so.”

That response wasn’t unexpected, coming from Deuce, but Ace still pouted about it.

The sky that Ace could see through the portholes was dimming gray. The more tired Ace felt, the more anxious he became, and though he’d laid down at Deuce’s insistence, he couldn’t relax. He rolled from one side to the other at least ten times while Deuce was gone from the room, bringing dirty dishes to the ship galley.

He laid on his back, raising his left hand above his face and staring at his palm. He searched deep, reaching into himself, trying to find any lingering sensation of heat and fire left over from the Mera Mera. After having the ability for so many years, Ace felt empty without it. As if a physical piece of himself had been carved out of his body.

What remained after his death and subsequent resurrection was what he’d been when he’d left Dawn Island. Despite his strength and the skills he’d developed in the past three years on the seas, Ace still felt as if he’d been shoved backwards. All of his progress felt completely pointless without the fire that had given him his reputation. His body felt heavier and his skin seemed more sensitive to the air. He was cold. He’d been cold from the moment he’d woken up.

At least now he knew why Deuce had been so unusually warm; he was _always_ that warm. Ace never noticed it in the past because he used to be warmer than Deuce. After all, what was warmer than fire?

He shut his eyes, lowering his hand to cover them, moving his right hand to the bandages over his chest.

 _Magma,_ he reminded himself bitterly. _Magma is warmer than fire._

Ace didn’t remove the hand from over his eyes even when Deuce returned to the room. Deuce didn’t immediately speak with Ace, opting to instead fuss over the blankets that his friend had shoved to his waist in frustration. Despite being cold, Ace didn’t like the feeling of the sheets, though he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was just another sign of his anxiety.

“It’s late,” Deuce was saying, pulling the covers back over Ace and making the injured man feel even more pathetic because his partner was worrying so much. “At least try to sleep.”

Ace pulled his right hand from his chest when he sensed Deuce backing away, blindly reaching out and snagging the doctor by the wrist. Deuce responded by folding his free hand over Ace’s, but didn’t attempt to pry his grip away.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he soothed, rubbing the back of Ace’s hand with his thumb. “What is it?”

Ace pressed his left hand deeper into his closed eyes until he saw colors of red and orange that weren’t actually there. “I’m cold…” he mumbled eventually.

“Do you want me to get more blankets?” Deuce asked helpfully, but Ace shook his head.

“I don’t wanna be alone.”

“I promise I’m not going anywhere, Ace.”

“Lie down with me?”

There was no verbal response, but Ace had no intention of letting Deuce say no. The one good thing about his inability to sleep was the fact he’d been awake to see Deuce was also awake. The doctor was hypocritical at best when he scolded and nagged Ace for not sleeping, considering he hadn’t been sleeping either. Instead of calling Deuce out for it, Ace just hung onto his wrist until he finally moved.

Ace shuffled himself to one side to make room for Deuce, and they laid silently shoulder to shoulder for a time. Ace eventually moved his hand from his face, pushing it up and raking his fingers through the fringe of his dark hair, staring up at the ceiling. He focused on the grain in the wood until the infirmary had grown completely dark in the night.

“I never apologized to you, did I?” Ace asked.

“Apologize?” Deuce sounded genuinely confused.

“You told me not to go, but I blew you off and left to run after Teech — I mean Blackbeard…” Ace muttered the correction. “I didn’t slow down enough to listen to anyone. I ignored pops. I ignored you. I made you all worry for weeks with no updates until the Navy put out the news that they were going to execute me. I’m just sorry for everything.”

He bit his lip, trying not to think about the bandages Deuce was wearing but unable to see anything else.

“I forgive you,” Deuce said. “I won’t lie and say I wasn’t upset that you left like that, because I was, but everyone was upset. It’s not like I was angry at you, though. I like to think I know you pretty well by now, so I wasn’t surprised when you decided to go after him. Blackbeard betraying the crew, betraying pops, weighted on you like a physical ailment. Something you couldn’t and wouldn’t let go; but that just proves how much you loved Thatch and pops. I can’t fault you for loving them that much. You’re a protective person by nature. I’ve known that from the moment I met you. So even if you feel guilty, I really do forgive you, and I don’t blame you for being who you are.”

Ace pinched his eyes closed against the sudden sting, turning towards Deuce and knocking his forehead against his partner’s shoulder. “I wasn’t strong enough, though,” Ace croaked. “How can Thatch rest when his murderer is still out there?”

“You know what he was like, or have you forgotten?” Deuce chided. “Thatch would be relieved that you’re okay. He wouldn’t care about Blackbeard. If he knew his death caused so much pain, he would be devastated. You were his friend and he loved you. He would hate to see you suffering.”

“I’m reckless.”

“Well,” Deuce breathed, not disputing the comment.

“Blackbeard beat me and traded me like I was an object to sell. I died because I just can’t let things go or think things through.”

“Do you regret it?” Deuce asked.

Ace tensed up at the question, pressing his face firmly against Deuce’s shoulder. “I… I don’t know. I know that what I did was what I wanted to do at the time. I know that I thought it was the right thing to do. I regret that it led to so many more people suffering and dying for me.” He paused for a moment to think before giving an actual answer. “I don’t regret my actions. I regret that the people I care about were hurt because of them.”

Deuce waited a moment to respond. “Well that’s easy then, right? You feel guilty and ashamed that people were hurt when they came to save your life.”

“Thanks for being blunt —”

“So show them how grateful you are, how much you appreciate them, by living. I know that right now you can’t exactly _announce_ that you’re alive — it would be too dangerous, and getting recaptured after everything done to save you would be a spit in all of our faces — but after things have settled down and you’re in a position where you can make a come back, then do it. Show the people who love you that they didn’t fail.”

“Is that what I should do?” Ace asked miserably, and Deuce hummed.

“I don’t know what you should do.”

“You sound hesitant.”

“You sound like you wouldn’t listen even if I tried to give you an ultimatum,” Deuce countered, and Ace grumbled. “Ace, what do _you_ want to do?”

Ace readjusted his position to prop his head against Deuce’s shoulder, lifting his hand in front of his face. He tried to use his fire abilities yet again, but the room remained pitch black. So dark he couldn’t even see his hand. He reached out, being as gentle as he could when he found Deuce’s left hand. Ace traced the edges of the bandages there, memorizing the feeling of smooth plasters wound around each of Deuce’s knuckles, before sliding his fingertips across the unbandaged and gratefully uninjured palm.

“Without my Devil’s Fruit, my strength is cut in half at least. I need to fix that. I need to get stronger. I can’t just return to being a pirate when I’m this weak. I can’t protect anyone like this.” He whispered the last sentence, squeezing Deuce’s hand.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Sort of.”

“Is it a good plan?”

“I mean, it’s not a _bad_ plan.”

“Suppose I can’t ask for better, can I?”

“At this point?” Ace snorted mirthlessly, then lowered his voice. “I don’t know how long it’ll take to get stronger, to the point where I can match my bounty and actually protect the people I care about. I feel… so helpless… but… even if I am helpless and pathetic and worthless, will you stay?” He tried not to shake, but admitting everything out loud, telling Deuce he felt this way, was difficult. He whispered, “It’s cold, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Deuce moved his hand so he could better hold Ace’s, then turned onto his side so they were face to face. He lifted Ace’s hand higher before wrapping his right arm around him, dragging him closer into a secure hug with their hands pinned between their chests.

“I suppose I could stay until you get sick of me,” Deuce sighed.

His tight hold around Ace made his teasing tone of voice endearing, and Ace felt the corner of his lips twitch in a small smile.

“Thanks.”

Somehow, Ace was able to fall asleep. When he woke up the next day, light was shining into the infirmary from the porthole windows. Ace was still being held against Deuce’s chest, with the doctor’s arm hanging at his waist just below the bandages — meticulously caring for Ace and avoiding his injuries so he wouldn’t hurt him unnecessarily, even in sleep. They both must have been dead tired if they hadn’t moved at all.

Ace shifted onto his back with a grunt, making no move to detach his hand from Deuce’s. His companion unconsciously tightened his grip, murmuring in his sleep. Ace rolled his head to watch Deuce’s face, noting their positions. Deuce was on his left side, his left hand holding Ace’s right while his right arm was now stretched out over Ace’s stomach. He looked comfortable at least, and still deeply asleep if his steady breathing was any indicator. His face was slack and peaceful, and Ace felt a bit of relief to know the doctor was in no immediate distress.

He reached over with his left hand, unable to stop himself from brushing aside the strands of blue hair hanging in Deuce’s face. Ace tucked the hair back behind Deuce’s ear, cupping the side of his head and feeling over the gauze taped to his partner’s temple just at his hairline. Ace hadn’t seen any of the man’s injuries yet. Whenever he redressed them, he’d leave the room entirely, and insisted they weren’t that bad whenever Ace asked about them.

Ace thumbed at the edge of the tape, debating his impulse to peel the bandage away. His hand shook slightly at the mere idea that the wound could be serious, so he quickly pulled away before Deuce could feel the touch and wake up. He calmed down after a few moments, returning his hand to the side of Deuce’s face so he could brush aside another loose strand of hair.

In the few days Ace had been recovering and conscious, the two of them hadn’t discussed much of what had happened. Deuce hadn’t pushed for any details about the fight with Blackbeard or what Ace had endured at Impel Down, and Ace hadn’t demanded to know what had happened to Deuce during the war. He knew that whatever happened had taken its toll, both the war and the strain of not knowing where Ace was, what had happened, what _would_ happen.

Ace couldn’t stop thinking about being separated from his friend again. After being alone for so long, suffering in Impel Down, later chained to an execution stand, Ace couldn’t stand the thought of splitting up again. Deuce said he would stay. Did he mean that? Or was he just being self sacrificing because he felt as if he owed Ace?

He’d been through so much already, Ace wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to go somewhere else to recover his own sense of stability. Yet at the same time he didn’t want Deuce to wander too far from his side. He wanted to see for himself that Deuce would be okay, and he wanted to be there for the instances that he wasn’t. He wanted to repay Deuce for everything he’d done.

Shanks would be fine with it, surely? Deuce was an excellent doctor after all, he would certainly prove useful in the future.

That’s what Ace told himself, and continued to tell himself in the following days.

They were docked before Ace knew it. He was lying on his back, alone in the infirmary while his entire crew and their allies attended Whitebeard’s funeral. Ace wanted to stand beside Marco and cry with his family, but he felt as if he had no right, because they were crying for him too. They’d built two gravestones and buried two coffins, not knowing that one of them was empty.

Ace was appalled with himself.

Marco and Deuce had told him to get some sleep during the funeral, and he tried, but he couldn’t. Eventually he stood up, walking to the nearest porthole to see if he could spot the island. The infirmary overlooked the ocean, stretching out in an endless expanse of blue. Ace pressed his forehead against the wall, digging his nails into the wood. The ship must have anchored with the island on the opposite side. He pulled back and slammed his forehead against the wall, gritting his teeth.

Hours seemed to pass. Ace paced the infirmary, trying to distract himself since he couldn’t sleep. At one point he found himself peeling away the bandages from around his wrists, dropping the dressings to the bed and holding his hands up to stare.

He’d worn the Sea Prism handcuffs for so long that they’d left deep marks in his skin. Bruising that was bordering on black, with the addition of scrapes and gashes that had cut into his skin when he moved his hands into a bad position. Ace numbly wondered if the bruises would fade, and how bad the scarring would be. He wasn’t normally one to care about that kind of thing, but having proof of his captivity marked on him made him feel unsteady.

Every time he saw the scars he would remember why they were there. He would remember that the entire world condemned him, and that he shouldn’t be alive. Ace scratched at the bruises, pressing his lips together. He didn’t even notice the specks of blood on his nails until the door opened, making him freeze and look over.

Deuce stood there watching Ace with a startled expression, as if he wasn’t expecting Ace to be up. Then he noticed his wrists and sighed, shutting the door as he entered the room.

“Really?”

“It’s itchy,” Ace argued.

Deuce stopped in front of Ace and took his hands, pulling them apart so Ace could no longer scratch himself. “That means it’s healing,” he scolded gently, forcing Ace to sit so he could rebandage the injuries.

His expression crumpled when he noticed Ace had split open a few of the abrasions. He was careful as he cleaned away the bits of blood and redressed the wounds. When he'd finished, he reached up to tap his knuckles against Ace's forehead.

“I’m sorry I left you alone like that for so long,” he said. “I’ll try to be around in case you feel this way again.”

“Feel what way?” Ace asked dumbly.

Deuce looked between his eyes with a particular expression that Ace couldn’t place, but eventually his face slacked a bit. “Tell me if your wrists start to itch again. Don’t scratch them, please. Please?”

“Okay?”

Deuce pulled his hand away when he'd deemed the answer satisfactory. “Come on. Everyone else has left. Marco told them to anchor on the far side of the island and set up camp for the night. The three of them are there to keep anyone from wandering back, so you can come out and pay your respects without anyone noticing.”

Ace stood up immediately at the confirmation. He’d been stuck in that room for days and was starting to go stir crazy. He was desperate to be outside, to feel the sun on his skin and smell the salty air blowing in from the ocean.

Deuce hassled him into wearing a shirt, though Ace stubbornly left it unbuttoned. He understood that hiding identifying marks like his tattoo was important, but that wouldn’t stop him from being difficult about it.

The beach was empty when Ace stepped onto it, immediately pausing and lifting his eyes to stare up. The sky was void of any clouds, showing a deep azure blue. The sun beating down caused beads of sweat to form at the back of his neck. The heat bit at his cheeks like it hadn’t in years, and it felt, truthfully, amazing. The sun was beautiful, Ace thought to himself. So was the sky.

“Ace?” Deuce’s voice pulled Ace from his thoughts, but he didn’t remove his eyes from the sky.

“It’s warm,” he noted, upset and delighted at the same time. “It’s nice. I’m not used to it. It’s warm. I don’t know.”

His chest felt tight with emotion. Just feeling the sun on his skin was making his knees weak. When was the last time he felt the sun? That was right, he remembered. It was when the marines were transferring him from Impel Down. He thought he’d never be able to see it again. Yet there he was standing beneath it, sand under his boots and sky above his head, wrists free of shackles, body aching with the memories of his ordeal.

“Hey,” a hand on his elbow pulled him back to the present and he finally tore his eyes from the sky, blinking a few times to see Deuce’s concerned face in front of him. “We can do this later if you want.”

Ace shook his head. “I want to do it now.”

“Okay…” Deuce still looked worried, but he turned to lead Ace forward.

There was a narrow but well worn path carved out between the grass that led up a small hill. Two large white memorials had been built at the apex, placed perfectly so if Ace turned around, he would have an ethereal view of the ocean. It was the perfect place to bury an old pirate. Dozens of old swords had been planted in the ground behind the graves, and flowers of varying colors had been laid reverently around them. There was a cool, steady breeze blowing past, disturbing the flowers just enough to knock the petals loose, drawing them into the air so they could dance on the wind currents, circling the monuments before drifting off into the distance.

Deuce paused before getting too close, allowing Ace to walk past him to stand in front of the graves alone.

Whitebeard's name had been carved pristinely on the front of his headstone, and his naginata had been planted deep into the top. A beaten flag bearing his Jolly Roger was tied to the top, and his coat hung halfway down with a necklace of white roses. The same white roses had been placed around Murakumogiri’s blade. It was perfect. Bold and proud and everything Edward Newgate was in life.

The emotions that had been building since stepping into the sun seemed to ache further, seeping into Ace’s bones. He turned his gaze away from Whitebeard’s grave to chance a look at his own. It was strange to see his own memorial when he wasn’t even dead. Ace hadn't been expecting it to be as distinct as Whitebeard’s, but it was.

It was a fraction shorter, topped with two crossed poles that held his beloved hat, his repaired beads, and his blade. Orange lilies and hibiscus had been heaped on top of his grave, but what really cut through him was the name carved on the surface.

Portgas D Ace.

Tears swam in his eyes and his knees shook beneath him. Despite the truth of his identity, they still put his mother’s name on his grave. They used the name he loved so much rather than spitting on his memory by calling him Gol.

Ace felt emotionally fragile, and a gentle gust of wind finally brought him down to his knees. The tears came quietly with no heaving sobs, flowing down his face unimpeded as he knelt there and stared. He was completely overwhelmed by his father’s death and the enormous care and love that had been put into making his grave.

All he could think was that he didn’t deserve it. To be cared about this much. He’d done nothing to warrant it.

Ace sat there until the sun had traveled a fair distance through the sky, and clouds had returned to stream lazily through the blue-gray of the horizon. The wind was a little softer now, and Ace’s tears had stopped, but his eyes burned and his cheeks felt heavy. Eventually he lifted an arm, sniffing and rubbing his nose against his sleeve before scrubbing at his eyes with a fist. He took a shaky inhale and rose up on wobbly legs, taking a step closer to Whitebeard’s grave.

The stone was cool beneath his hand, but Ace was quickly learning that he’d have to get used to the cold. The scent of roses tickled his nose, and he sniffed again. He could sense Deuce was still there, somewhere behind him, standing at an appropriate distance to give Ace privacy but not moving out of sight. Ace felt a little better for it, taking comfort from the steady warmth of his partner’s presence radiating through his Haki.

“Thank you,” Ace whispered. “Thank you for making a fool of a child like me feel as if I was deserving of your love. For giving me shelter and purpose. I still have a long way to go, especially now… but if you’ll promise to look over me, wherever you are… I promise to make you proud.”

Ace stood there for a long time, memorizing the feel of the hard rock beneath his fingertips. It would get dark soon. Deuce would want to redress the bandages on his chest before dinner, but Ace couldn’t seem to pull himself away just yet. He knew Shanks was coming up the hill, it was hard to mistake his Haki, but Ace still didn’t remove his hand. Shanks must have sent Deuce back to the ship, because Ace could feel the doctor's presence fading bit by bit while Shanks came closer.

He stopped a few feet behind Ace but said nothing. Ace held his breath, reminding himself of what he’d planned to say but going completely off script the instant he opened his mouth.

“He wasn’t buried like this… was he?” He slid his hand along the edge of the memorial. “He was never given a memorial, or a funeral… or a grave. Nowhere for people to visit.”

“Hm?” Shanks uttered, and Ace didn’t want to clarify, but he did.

“Rogers,” he said. “After he was executed.”

The silence almost had an edge, but Ace could understand if Shanks didn’t want to answer. He figured the Yonko's view of Roger mirrored his own view of Whitebeard. The pain he was feeling at the loss of his captain… Shanks had felt it too at one point.

“No,” Shanks confirmed. “We never got the option to bury him.”

His theories were unspoken, but Ace could guess. The marines had likely burned Roger’s body, buried it in an unmarked grave somewhere, thrown it into the sea to be devoured by Sea Kings, or put it on display at Marineford until it had decayed to the point where it was unrecognizable. Ace didn’t know why he suddenly felt so angry (though that anger was subdued by his sorrow). He hated that he was offended by the fact Roger didn’t have a grave.

“I’m pretty sure my mom has a grave,” he said, not quite understanding what he was saying but not stopping. “Baterilla is in the South Blue, though. I’ve never been there.” Shanks didn’t give any response, so Ace asked the question he’d been mulling over for days. “Did you know? Who I was? Before, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Shanks admitted, and Ace shut his eyes tightly.

He curled his hand into a fist on top of Whitebeard’s grave. “How long?”

“From the moment we met.”

Ace wasn’t expecting that confession, almost shocked enough to turn around and face the other pirate. “How?” His voice cracked.

Shanks seemed to contemplate how to answer before speaking. “When someone is that adamant about not caring, it becomes a bit difficult to truly believe. For claiming you had no interest one way or the other in regards to Captain Roger, you still used his name. You called him Gol D Roger instead of Gold Roger.”

“And that was the blaring alarm that gave me away, was it?” Ace questioned blandly.

“It was only a theory,” Shanks admitted. “I thought I was being too eager in the beginning, thinking that maybe he’d had a child before his death. The idea that he may have left something physical behind, something other than stories of his adventures and the memories I had of him, was too good a dream to ignore. I wasn’t certain, but I was blindly hopeful.”

“Hopeful? You mean you actually wanted me to be his son?” Ace glared at the roses in front of him. “You actually hoped that that man had left behind a child? That his bloodline would continue somehow? Despite everything he did in life? Despite the fact he was one of the most heinous criminals of his time?”

“Shameful, aren’t I?” Shanks asked.

Ace bit onto his bottom lip.

“I hoped, but I didn’t let myself entertain that it could be possible. If you want the truth, though I believed you may be his son, I didn’t get confirmation until I read it in the paper like everyone else.”

“That’s stupid,” Ace blurted, then winced at the impulsive claim. “I mean—”

“You’re right, though,” Shanks interrupted before Ace could correct himself or apologize. “It was very stupid, but I was right in the end, wasn’t I? My intuition was correct. You are that man’s son.”

Ace lifted his head to stare at the Jolly Roger. “I may share blood with that man, but my only father is Whitebeard.”

Shanks laughed. Ace almost flipped around to snap at him, but froze in place at the Yonko’s next words.

“I know that, and I have no intention of undermining what Whitebeard did for you. You might not believe me when I say this, but Roger would be happy. A little put out perhaps, but in a good hearted way. He’d be grateful to Whitebeard for taking care of you, and relieved that you’d found each other. He’d be proud of you, just like Whitebeard was proud of you.”

Ace couldn’t speak. Somehow, in twenty years of life, he’d never heard anyone speak about Roger like that. With warm fondness. In general, Ace didn’t like discussing him. After revealing his birthright to Whitebeard, it had never been brought up again. He never talked about it with Marco or Thatch, who were the only two commanders who had known, and he never talked about it with Deuce. None of them ever pushed him to talk about Roger either.

To Ace, Roger had always been a shadowed caricature of himself, someone with no substance. A ghost, a weight, a wisp of smoke or ocean mist that disappeared when Ace turned to look. In Ace’s mind, Roger was never a person, because he never really bothered to learn who he’d been from people who had actually known him. He'd never wanted to.

Instead he wanted to selfishly harbor all of his hate and resentment, let it fester and build and poison him until just the mention of the man’s name made his nerves prickle in rage. Thanks to that, Ace had convinced himself that Roger was everything the World Government said he was. A criminal, a beast, a heinous monster with no conscience. He wanted his anger to be justified.

So hearing from someone who knew him that he would have been proud of Ace? It felt like Shanks was talking about someone else. Ace wanted to believe Shanks was talking about someone else; but he wasn’t.

“I have a request,” Ace said, finally cutting to what he really wanted to discuss with Shanks.

“What’s that?”

“You can say no if you want. You don’t owe me anything and you have every right — if anything I’m the one who owes you.”

“Hm, go ahead.”

Ace pulled his hand away from Whitebeard’s grave, taking a step back. “I don’t know how, or why, or the purpose… I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.” He held his hands palm up. “When I died, I lost my Devil’s Fruit ability. I’m not a Logia user anymore. I can’t make fire, I can’t go intangible, nothing. I’m cold. I’m actually _cold.”_ He curled his fingers into his palms. “The way I am now, I’m far too weak to survive on this sea, and it’s not in my nature to rely on others to protect me when I can’t return that service. If I can’t fight for my friends, then I don’t want them to fight for me. I can use Haki, but not very well. Marco said… he said you stopped Akainu from killing some navy kid. You blocked his punch despite the fact he’s a powerful Logia user.”

“I did,” Shanks confirmed. “And?”

“Rather than a Devil’s Fruit, your strength comes from your will and your Haki. You’re completely ordinary — no offense — but you’re a Yonko, and you were able to stop Akainu where I couldn’t.” He set a hand over the bandages on his chest, turning finally to face Shanks. “My request. Teach me. Train me. Show me how to use my Haki so I can defend against Logia’s. Without my Devil’s Fruit I’m the same as I was when I first sailed out. Whatever strength I do possess isn’t nearly enough to keep me alive in the New World, but I can’t leave yet. I’m not leaving when my little brother is still so intent on conquering this sea. I want to be here to see it happen. I want to see him fulfill his dream.” His eyes fell to the ground, feeling miserable and anxious. “I want to figure out why I'm still alive when I should be dead. When I _did_ die. There’s gotta be a reason for it. It can’t be some dumb luck or simple coincidence. There _has_ to be a reason.”

This wasn’t exactly the speech he’d planned out in his head. That had been a lot shorter and far more eloquent, with a lot more complex words. Unfortunately, the moment Ace started to talk, he was unable to stop. Everything came rushing out in a messy rant, blurting things and adding pieces he hadn’t even thought to mention before.

Ace dropped his hand from his chest and took a step closer before getting to his knees, bowing with his hands planted in the grass and his forehead pressing into the earth. “Please train me! Please teach me how to use Haki! I don’t know how I’ll be able to repay you, but I’ll be forever in your debt!”

There was a pause. “Me?” Shanks sounded disbelieving. “You want _me_ to train you?”

Ace nodded against the ground.

“Why?”

“Luffy trusts you,” Ace explained. “I trust Luffy. They go hand in hand.”

“I see,” Shanks hummed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a student before. It might be interesting.”

Ace lifted his head to gape up at Shanks. “You’ll do it? I mean, you can say no, I don’t want you to accept me as a student just because I’m related to your old captain—”

“Ace, please,” Shanks was grinning, his hand propped against the hilt of his saber. “I’m doing this for you; and for Luffy. I can’t very well turn you away after you begged me to train you on your knees like that. What kind of bastard would I be then?”

Ace’s lips twitched, his chest swelling with relief. He went to stand, faltering when the pain flared and brought him back to his knees. He coughed, gripping his chest and cringing.

“Whoa.” Shanks paced closer, sounding genuinely concerned. “Maybe walking this much so soon was a bad idea. Here.” Ace hesitantly accepted the hand Shanks held out to him, wincing as he was pulled upright. “Let’s get you back to the infirmary before your doctor friend gets upset.”

“Oh, I can’t forget that,” Ace blurted. “Can Deuce come too? I mean can he stay with me? He’s a doctor, he’ll be helpful, and—”

“Yeah I don’t mind,” Shanks decided without bothering to think it over. “Do you need help walking?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Ace assured, starting down the path with Shanks.

He paused before getting too far, looking back at the graves where his hat was hanging. He’d have to leave it. That, his blade, and his beads. The things he’d taken with him when he first became a pirate. Identifiers to who he was. Those items that were Fire Fist’s signature; but maybe it was necessary. Ace wasn’t Fire Fist anymore. Who he’d been in the past, who he’d been just a week ago, was not who he was now.

He needed to evolve, to move on and become someone else. He needed to take wisdom from that time in his life and maybe become someone better. Still, it was hard to let go. He loved that hat. The beads especially had been special. They reminded him of Dadan, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“You okay?” Shanks asked.

Ace dropped his eyes to the flowers. “You ever looked at your own grave before?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“It’s just weird.”

“Well look on the bright side: now when you really do die, there’s already a grave waiting for you.”

Ace knew Shanks was probably trying to make a joke, but he shook his head. “I don’t want to be buried here,” he decided. “I want to be on the ocean.”

“A sea burial?”

“Yeah,” Ace confirmed. “Someone could put me on a little boat and push me off to sea, set it on fire and let me sink.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“It’s something pops said to me once,” Ace murmured. “Wherever we come from, whoever our fathers are, in the end we’re all children of the sea. I don’t want my body to be confined by the earth. I want freedom even when I stop breathing.” The wind picked up, the scent of flowers and salt surrounded him, and he turned away from the graves. “They’re beautiful, though. The memorials.”

“Your healer friend, Masked Deuce, helped design them. He’s quite the artist.”

“Yeah. He helped me design our first flag, when I was captain of the Spades," Ace admitted. "Though I didn't know he had this much interest in it. I know he writes regularly, but didn’t know he drew.”

“You should ask to see some of the sketches," Shanks said. "They’re nice.”

“Yeah, I will. Thank you, by the way. For saying he can stay with me. I think it’ll be easier for me… I’m being selfish.”

“After what you’ve been through, you have every right to be a little selfish. I don’t mind.”

“Yeah. Thank you,” Ace said, and he repeated it again, because it felt necessary. “Thank you.”


	4. Post Marineford — Part 4: Deuce

Deuce had never been particularly sensitive to smells before. As a doctor, he was used to strong scents like disinfectant, bleach, and blood. He dealt with truly horrific things that seemed specifically made to target the senses, but his stomach had always been as strong as steel. It had to be if he was performing invasive emergency surgeries where his gloved hands and scrubs were soaked in blood by the end of it.

Truthfully, Deuce had never been very fond of the sight of blood. His father always said doctor’s weren’t supposed to be squeamish, but what small child wasn’t? Not that it seemed to matter. Those times when Deuce would go to him in tears after skinning a knee and drawing blood, the accomplished doctor would leer down at him and scold him for crying.

“It’s just blood,” he would say. “You have to get used to it if you’re going to be a doctor.”

So Deuce did get used to it, because that was what he had to do. Blood, the horrible smells that came with being a doctor, and everything else that applied to it; Deuce could handle it all.

Ever since Marineford, though, one scent stood out over everything else: gunpowder. It made his head pound, and his stomach would roil like nothing else. It seemed to trigger something deep in his psyche that made his hands tremble. He tamed the shake by scraping his nails across the backs of his hands, but it did little to stop the phantom sounds of canons and gunfire that had begun to haunt him in the night.

Deuce was no stranger to violence — he was a pirate after all — but there was a difference between getting in a rumble during a ship raid and fighting in a war. Deuce had never before experienced the same fear and stress that he had at Marineford.

Deuce remembered every heart stopping moment of those few hours during the war. For most of it, Deuce focused on doing what he knew he could, acting as a frontline medic for his friends and allies. He could still feel the searing heat beneath his hands as he tried to help dozens of fallen pirates, blood staining his fingers and the ends of his sleeves.

It didn’t matter who he was treating, though. His eyes never left the execution platform where his beloved friend and captain was chained down. Where his partner of three years was awaiting death that Deuce knew some part of him, however small, surely believed he deserved.

That was just how Ace was. Deuce knew about the darkness hidden in the edges of the man’s otherwise beautiful and carefree mind. Deuce saw the emotion go through Ace from a distance, rippling across his face, tears falling when he seemed to truly comprehend the love that his crew and allies held for him.

They’d all come for the same reason: to rescue Ace from the marine’s clutches before they could go through with the execution. Even Deuce, who hated to get his hands bloody when he was hurting rather than healing. If it was for Ace, Deuce didn't care what he needed to do. He’d blindly shoot the flintlock pistol, clumsily wield the tantō, and put himself in the line of fire as many times as he had to. So long as it led to Ace being rescued, Deuce didn’t care.

On their way to Marineford, they’d made a stop at one of the islands deep in Whitebeard’s territory in order to drop off the nurses and crew members incapable of fighting — on Whitebeard’s insistence of course. Marco had suggested that Deuce stay behind as well, but Deuce only scowled at the comment. If Marco really expected the Spade’s former vice captain to stay behind while his captain was facing death, then he was more foolish than the navy.

At least one of the crew tried to stay at Deuce's side during the battle to help him if he got into a fight he couldn't handle on his own. Unfortunately, many of them ended up falling. Deuce had lost track of how many crew members and allies had tried to watch his back, only to be cut down in front of him. The majority of which he was unable to save. Being a doctor and having so many friends die beneath his hands when it was his job to save them was gut wrenching.

The relief he felt when he saw Ace's fire rage over the battlefield was stronger than an adrenaline rush. For a wonderful moment, it seemed like everything would be okay. Deuce fought with renewed strength. He utilized both the gun and knife Izou had gifted him to fight his way through the crowd, trying to reach Ace; to be by his side.

He didn't make it in time.

Against an Admiral, Deuce knew he wouldn’t have been much help, but he didn’t need to be a strong fighter to throw himself in front of Ace. To willingly take Akainu’s attack in order to protect his captain. Deuce would have been happy to take that hit, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Deuce was close enough to see it happen, though. The instant Akainu’s fist went through Ace, Deuce felt his entire body go stone cold. His feet caught on the uneven ground as he faltered in his full on sprint, and gravity dropped him to his knees.

The noises around him became a sharp ring that pounded into his ears. He wasn’t close enough to hear if Ace was speaking, but it seemed like he was. Luffy was responding as if he was. Deuce watched half aware as Ace slipped from Luffy's shoulder, landing face first on the battlefield.

The sound of Luffy's screams cut through Deuce's heart. His hands began to shake at his sides and his entire body trembled. He stared at where Ace lay with wide eyes, wanting nothing more than to crawl over to him. Yet his body was frozen in place.

The ring in his ears was morphing, and with a sudden gasp in, he heard something snap. He _felt it_ happen. His hearing unexpectedly sharpened dramatically. Deuce could hear clashing metal, gunshots, cannon fire and voices. He heard screaming and crying, incoherent words he couldn't make out. A rush of emotion came over him that he wasn't certain was his.

Fear, sadness, rage, anguish; the heart in his chest felt as if it had been twisted to a crooked angle. He lifted his hands towards his chest as he curled forward, tears burning from his eyes as he choked on smoke and the scent of blood and gunpowder. He couldn't _breathe._

The voices bounced around in his mind, screams that deafened him, until they began to vanish one by one. He heard a voice crying for their mother, another cursing the pirates, and yet another begging for help — saying they couldn't feel their legs.

Deuce's vision went white as he pressed his forehead into the stone ground, hands lifting to his head and fingers tangling into his hair; and he screamed. He begged for the voices to be quiet, to go away. Deuce ended up curled on the ground choking on dirt and debris, digging his nails into his scalp as he simply screamed, and screamed.

The voices in his head screamed back. Behind his closed eyes, he watched Ace being murdered over and over on a loop. The battle was so loud, Deuce figured no one could hear his voice as he yelled himself hoarse. To the navy soldiers and pirates, he was just another victim lying in the way.

Deuce couldn't remember how long he'd lain there, hands covering his ears, face against the ground, body curled into the fetal position. At some point, the noise had stopped, but Deuce was surrounded by a presence that felt distinctly hostile. He was terrified. It wasn't until someone gripped his shoulder to get his attention that his eyes snapped open.

He lashed out with a cry of fear, but hands moved to catch his wrists before he could land the pathetic blow. His chest heaved, his eyes struggling to make out the face in front of him.

Deuce didn't know the man, but he looked like a pirate. His gray hair was slicked back, showing off an X shaped scar on his left temple. There was a lit cigarette between his lips, and his dark eyes were so piercingly observant that Deuce started shaking harder. Despite the stranger's intimidating appearance, Deuce opened his mouth.

"They won't stop," he whispered fearfully, his eyes wide. "They won't stop."

"The fight's over, kid," the man said, and he sounded a lot less intimidating than he looked.

Deuce shook his head. "No. No. I can still hear them. They won't stop." He moved his shaking hands back to his ears, covering them. "The voices. They won't stop. There's too many!"

The man looked taken aback for a moment before his expression evened out. He glanced around before finding who he wanted, not releasing his hold on Deuce as he called out. "Is this one of yours?"

"Oh thank fuck!" A more familiar voice cried in alarm. "I thought we lost him! Deuce!"

"Master Deuce!"

Deuce turned his head to look towards the voices. The three presences that surrounded him were familiar, long time friends. The talented info agent — Skull, the former teacher and sharpshooter — Mihal, and the weedy stingfish fish-man — Wallace. All of them had been members of the Spade Pirates before integrating into Whitebeard's crew. All of them had joined Deuce when he'd announced he wanted to join the rest of the crew in the war to rescue their former captain and close friend.

"Thank you," Mihal was the one to say to the man in front of Deuce. "We can take care of him. He's a crew doctor."

"Ah, I see." The man released Deuce's wrists and stood up as Skull and Wallace took his place. "He doesn't look great. You should get him off the battlefield immediately."

"We will, no worries about that," Skull said, squeezing Deuce's shoulder.

Deuce watched dizzily as the stranger walked off, barely registering when Skull gently shook him.

"Master Deu, can you hear me?"

Deuce shifted his eyes to look at Skull, staring wearily at the mask over his face. "I can hear everyone," he confessed weakly, though he doubted Skull understood what he meant.

Then again, Deuce didn’t really understand either. At the time he'd been in far too much shock. The moment he felt even a little safe, Skull and Wallace taking his arms while Mihal stayed close to his back, he went completely lifeless. He was conscious, but he wasn’t aware of what was happening. By the time he started to come back to himself, the _Red Force_ and all the other ships had passed through the Gates of Justice.

The voices finally stopped, and Deuce was able to relax moderately. Though he could still feel an uncomfortable amount of physical presence surrounding him. When he got on the _Red Force,_ he found a good quiet area to sit and refused to move, burying himself in his journal as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

It wasn't until later that he learned the man who'd found him at Marineford was the Red-Hair Pirates first mate, Benn Beckman. That made him feel a bit better about the situation, because at least he hadn’t been a threat to Deuce. He had no doubt that if the man had chosen to off him, or if a marine had come upon him first, that Deuce wouldn’t have had the energy to fight back.

Frankly, he wouldn’t have even tried.

Deuce decided to keep that to himself.

There were no words to describe the ocean of emotion he’d sailed through in the past few weeks. Watching Ace get murdered before finding him alive and recovering tucked into a cot. Sometimes Deuce couldn’t believe it, and found himself simply staring at Ace for hours. Especially at night when Ace was asleep.

Deuce would stay awake lying beside him, memorizing each line and curve of Ace’s face. He would reach out to feel his strong pulse, arch his head closer to hear his breathing, and promise himself that this was real, Ace was alive and safe, everything would be okay.

The following few days were a blend of focusing on nursing Ace back to health and trying to keep himself from snapping. Deuce felt as if he’d been teetering on the edge since watching Ace collapse, when those voices had first started to claw at the inside of his mind. He could still hear them on occasion, when he was sitting in the infirmary with Ace and it was quiet between them. Ace would be trying to sleep, Deuce would be trying to write, and out of nowhere Deuce would hear whispers.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he was suddenly so sensitive, but it was agonizing. He could hear voices when no one was around, and sometimes he knew when people were coming before they entered the room. Deuce was constantly on edge and had trouble sleeping let alone relaxing. Though he was able to calm down when he laid down with Ace at night.

Ace’s presence superseded any others, and Deuce was able to sleep through the night without any problem. Deuce had yet to admit this to his friend, and had no plans to. Ace already had more than enough to worry about. He didn’t need to add Deuce’s rapidly eroding sanity to the list.

Saying goodbye to the Whitebeard pirates was hard, but at least Deuce got the chance to do so. While he went to bid farewell to his crew of the last three years, Ace was stuck in the infirmary. It couldn’t have been easy for him, and Deuce knew it wasn’t fair. After that, they set off with the Red-Hair pirates, headed for an undisclosed location where Ace could train without anyone finding him.

“I do trust my crew, but I’d like to be cautious regarding who knows about you here,” Shanks was saying, discussing the situation with Ace over a table they’d set up in the infirmary.

His ship doctor was there as well, sitting hunched over his desk in the corner and sulking over the fact he hadn’t been entrusted with the fact there was an injured person in _his_ infirmary. Benn Beckman, Yasopp, and Lucky Roux were also in the room, sitting around and busying themselves while listening with one ear. Deuce had stayed in his seat beside the cot, now open to the rest of the room by the parted curtain. He was leaning over the edge of the made bed, his journal open on the sheets and a pen in hand, scribbling notes and trying to focus.

“Is there any plan to keep my survival secret from your men?”

“We’re currently on a course that’ll lead us to an island in my territory at the edge of the Calm Belt,” Shanks explained. “There are no native occupants of the island as it isn’t on a common trade route and rarely if ever gets visitors. While we’re there, I’ll be able to monitor my crew more closely in case they get any ideas regarding contacting the government. I think after an adjustment period, they won’t have any issue with you. The best I’ll have to explain is that you weren’t killed, merely injured. That should be enough for them.”

“We are gonna wait till we get to the island though,” Benn added for Shanks, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. “Just to be safe.”

“Right,” Shanks confirmed. “We can get everything we need from the island, food and water, and there are plenty of open areas inland that will be perfect for your training.”

“Okay,” Ace agreed, leaning forward with his arms folded against the table. “So what are we going to do first?”

“You’re not allowed to do anything to dramatically strain your body until you’ve fully recovered,” Deuce chided without looking up, not noticing the frustrated expression that Ace pulled.

“He is right, though,” Shanks said, and Ace grumbled.

“Fine, then what about after that?”

“Well, you need an alternative way of fighting now that you no longer have your Devil’s Fruit power. That was the first thing I considered.”

“I’m not much of a gun person.”

“Oh that wasn’t my plan at all.”

Deuce glanced over to watch Shanks lean back, holding his hand out for Benn to pass over a long object wrapped in a black cloth. The Yonko set the object on the table and slid it over to Ace. Deuce sat straighter to watch Ace pull it closer, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a sheathed saber. It was similar to Shanks’ sword, though the grip was bound differently and a bit shorter.

“Ah,” Ace pulled the sword a few inches from the sheath to look at the blade. “Swords. Not much of a swordsman, unfortunately.”

“I don’t expect you to become an expert immediately,” Shanks promised, “but there’s no better weapon on the seas. Of course your training will include more than just swordplay. We’ll also be working on strengthening your Haki and sharpening your capabilities with it. When you’re healthy enough and your doctor gives you the okay, I’ll test the extent of your Haki and develop a training regimen based on that. Your end goal will be imbuing your sword blade with Armament Haki and successfully blocking an attack by me. If you can do that, then you should be able to return to the sea.”

“I have to beat you?” Ace asked, and Shanks laughed.

“No, no. Just block an attack.” He reached for where his own sword was propped against his chair. “I’ve been fighting with this weapon since I was very young, it would take you years to reach the point where you could fight me. Beating me, on the other hand.” He smiled at Ace, eyes glittering in amusement. “Well, let’s just focus on one thing at a time.”

Ace held his hands up. “Just to clarify, that wasn’t a threat. I’m not foolish enough to think I could pull off something like that; and I wouldn’t want to. You’re an ally. Or I’m yours. Something like that.”

Deuce looked back at his journal to scribble something else down, his chin held in his palm and his elbow propped against the cot. He could feel the intense energy coming from everyone in the room, even the ship doctor. Deuce could tell they were strong, unbelievably so, but he didn’t feel threatened. Rather, instead of feeling intimidated, the presence that the older pirates were giving off was very calming. Deuce felt safe, which was nice.

“It’ll be nice to have another doctor around too,” the ship doctor noted, and Deuce looked over at him, meeting his eye. “Especially one who worked on Whitebeard’s crew for so long. I imagine you know your stuff.”

Deuce shrugged, turning back to his notes. “I suppose.”

“He’s a _really_ good doctor,” Ace blurted, and Deuce hunched his shoulders.

“I’m alright.”

“Yeah he spent almost _three years_ learning under Marco and the other head surgeons on the ship! Marco even said Deuce was one of our top medical staff!”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Deuce insisted, lifting his journal to hide his face in it as Ace laughed.

“He’s just being humble.”

Deuce turned with the journal in his raised hand, poised to throw it at the back of Ace’s head out of pure embarrassment. The amused eyes on him made his cheeks burn hotter and he quickly set his journal back down, opting to instead glare at Ace. He didn’t want to hurt Ace anyway, even if it was a joke. Who knew what kind of attack could trigger Ace now, after going through so much pain? A silly book thrown at his head may make him snap, and Deuce would hate himself if that happened.

Besides, it wasn’t like Ace praising him was anything new. Though Deuce had a fairly blasé opinion of his own abilities, teetering on self deprecating, Ace’s trust in him normally overshadowed any doubt Deuce harbored. Still, hearing him praise Deuce publicly in front of people they didn’t know well was embarrassing.

“Well, it would be nice to talk,” the ship doctor continued, speaking directly to Deuce. “Maybe you and I could exchange notes while Fire Fist is training with the boss.”

Ace lifted his head. “You shouldn’t call me that anymore,” he said. Deuce tensed up at the sudden hollowness in the other man’s voice. “Remember I don’t have my Devil’s Fruit. I’m not Fire Fist anymore. I’m just Ace.”

“Oh,” the doctor looked sheepish, blinking. “Yes, that’s fine.”

It made sense that the nickname would be a sting to Ace, just a reminder of what he’d lost. The poor doctor didn’t know that, and it wasn’t really Ace’s fault for being defensive either. The uncomfortable energy that spread across the room was no one’s fault, rather it was expected. Deuce wanted to say something, to reassure Ace somehow, but nothing came to mind that could possibly make the situation better.

A knock on the door came just in time, and a familiar pirate who had introduced himself as Rockstar popped his head into the room. He was keeping the door mostly closed, sticking his right arm into the room to hold out a newspaper.

“Hope I’m not interrupting, boss. The mail bird just dropped off the news, you need to see it.” Deuce took a breath as Rockstar shuffled into the room, shutting the door closed behind him. “The bird came pretty late, half the crew is asleep.”

“That’s fine, thanks for bringing it,” Shanks held his hand out to take the paper from Rockstar, who stood off to the side looking uneasy.

Though Deuce did get the distinct impression that Ace had nothing to do with that. Rockstar had already met Ace on the ship, and had accepted that he “hadn’t died” pretty quickly. Deuce didn’t know if the man didn’t care or was just that fluid in regards to strange occurrences. With that in mind, Deuce focused on Shanks, who had a somewhat echoing expression on his face. Even his eyes looked rather distant.

“What do you think about this?” Shanks asked.

Deuce didn’t know who he was talking to, but Benn stood up and stepped closer. He leaned over Shanks’ shoulder and reached out to hold the paper up. Shanks used his now free hand to rub his jaw.

“Sixteen times, huh?” Benn murmured. “He certainly knows how to make a statement.”

“Of course,” the corner of Shanks’ lips curved up in a half smile, pointing at the paper. “What do you make of this, though? A tattoo?”

“Or drawn on with a pen,” Benn offered. “I’m not sure, but it must mean something.”

“Look at who he’s with.” The smile had grown into a grin that showed just a hint of teeth, and the older pirate’s eyes had begun to glitter.

“That’s something to note,” Benn agreed, and Shanks hummed.

“Well the marines certainly have.” He looked up. “You may want to see this as well, Ace.”

Benn set the paper on the table, sliding it across for Ace to look at. Deuce watched closely, tensing considerably when Ace quickly rose to his feet, clinging to the sword with both hands and holding it against his chest.

“Luffy?!”

“Now we know how he’s doing,” Shanks said.

Deuce stood up from his place beside the cot, crossing the short distance to the table and standing beside Ace to look down at the article splashed across the front page. It showed a rather melancholy photograph of Luffy standing at the edge of the crater left over from Whitebeard’s final attack. He had his signature straw hat in his right hand, held over his chest. His head was bowed and his eyes were shut. Layers of bandages were covering his entire left arm and hand, up around his shoulders and neck, and around his right forearm and hand. His upper arm was free of any wrappings, instead showing off a strange tattoo. 3D2Y, with the 3D crossed out with an X.

It was deeply reminiscent of the tattoo on Ace’s left arm, which Deuce glanced at before looking back at the paper.

“He showed up at Marineford and sailed the perimeter of the island once before ringing the Ox Bell sixteen times,” Shanks repeated what the article said, eyes locked on Ace. “The once around the island was a sign of respect towards the fallen: to be precise, for you and Whitebeard.” Ace flinched. “The sixteen rings could mean anything. The navy seems to think it’s a declaration of war.”

Ace slammed his right hand against the table, leaning over it. “No way! Luffy’s not that stupid!”

Shanks gave him a moment before continuing. “It’s more likely a symbolic way of announcing a new era. But that seems a little too easy and obvious to me, though.”

“Obvious? Easy?” Ace gaped at him with wide eyes. “He went back to Marineford! That’s not easy and no part of this is obvious! What the hell is he thinking?!” He looked back at the picture, his face falling. “This fucking fool, look at him. He should be in bed!”

“What I mean, look who he’s with,” Shanks said.

“Jimbei,” Ace murmured, “and…” his brow furrowed and he pressed his lips into a tight line.

Deuce leaned closer to look at the pictures and read the article. Silver Rayleigh.

“I know that name,” Deuce said.

“Rayleigh was Captain Roger’s first mate and right hand,” Shanks explained. “They call him the Dark King. He’s been living on Sabaody Archipelago undetected for the past twenty-two years.”

“He was in Sabaody?” Deuce gaped. “We stopped there three years ago. I had no idea.”

“Well, discretion is one of the reasons he’s still around. I’m surprised, though. He hasn’t done anything to break into the spotlight since the crew went their separate ways.” Shanks rubbed his jaw again. “Returning to Marineford must have been his idea, and knowing him, he probably had more in mind than merely paying respects and ringing in the new era.”

“Like what?” Deuce questioned, and Shanks shrugged.

“Who knows? I’m relieved, though. It’s nice to see Luffy is okay, and if he’s with Rayleigh, then he’ll probably be doing the exact same thing as us. That being training.”

“Training,” Ace repeated, dragging the paper closer. “With this guy?”

“Rayleigh is the one who helped train me,” Shanks confessed. “He’s strong. Luffy’s in good hands, you don’t have to worry.”

“I have no say in what worries me where Luffy is involved,” Ace murmured. “Just look at the idiot, he’s covered in bandages.” His fingers flexed, curling and wrinkling the newspaper. “It’s my fault…”

Deuce reached his hand out to rub Ace’s back firmly, attempting to offer some form of comfort despite how clearly distressed his partner was. “You’re covered in bandages too,” he reminded.

Ace scoffed — of course he did. “Who gives a shit about me when my little brother is suffering?”

Deuce wanted to argue that _he_ gave a shit, but decided to remain silent. Instead he continued to stroke his hand over Ace’s back, up and down his spine and across his shoulders. All Deuce could do was this, try to ground Ace with his touch before he lost himself to his self hate and misery. He probably would have tried to reassure him vocally, but there were too many people in the room with them. It could wait.

“I understand,” Shanks spoke before the silence could get any worse. He then sat straighter. “Well! That’s a weight off my mind. Now, Mister Not-Fire-Fist, no offense but you’re starting to smell. If your doctor says it’s alright, as the captain of this ship, I’d like to request you please take a shower.”

Ace blinked himself back to the present, lifting an arm to sniff as Deuce nodded from beside him. “That’s fine. Take the bandages off first of course.”

Ace turned his head to look at Deuce. “Do I smell?”

“When’s the last time you bathed?” Deuce asked, and Ace wrinkled his nose in thought. “Yeah. Try and find a change of clothes too if you can.”

“Oh I should be able to help with that,” Rockstar offered. “We have some spare changes of clothes you can pick through. I’ll show you to the shower room as well. Boss?”

“Go ahead,” Shanks waved his hand. “I’ll probably head to my cabin soon, but I’d like to share a few words with the good doctor first.”

He smiled at Deuce, who pointed dumbly at himself. “You wanna talk to me?”

“If you have no prior engagements to get to?”

“Uh, no.”

Ace was looking between Shanks and Deuce, who couldn’t help but notice the apprehension on his face. Ace had even tightened his grip on the sword, as if some part of him was suddenly distrustful of letting his now-teacher be alone with his first mate.

Deuce reached out as inconspicuously as he could, putting a hand over Ace’s around the sheath of the sword. Ace gave a second of resistance before letting Deuce take the weapon.

“Go take a shower before your stink finally gets on the sheets. I doubt the doctor here would appreciate his infirmary getting rank because of you.”

“I would not,” the doctor agreed.

Deuce nudged Ace with an elbow to get him to move, taking a seat when his friend had finally shuffled off to follow Rockstar from the room.

Deuce propped the sword against the table, setting his closed journal on his lap and running the pad of his thumb against the edge of it. “So what did you want to talk to me about?” he asked, staring at the table rather than meeting Shanks’ eye. He started talking without waiting for an answer. “Ace still needs to rest for two weeks before he can go through any kind of physical training, but he’s out of danger in regards to his injuries.”

“That’s good to hear, though it’s not what I wanted to discuss with you.”

Deuce finally looked up, taken aback by the sharp gaze Shanks was watching him with.

“Are you feeling alright?” Shanks inquired, and Deuce stared at him for a moment, uncertain of how to reply and uncertain why the man would even ask that question.

“My injuries weren’t serious,” Deuce said, and Shanks shook his head.

“I’m referring more to the psychological toll that this has taken on you.”

Deuce frowned, his hands curling tighter around his journal. “No,” he uttered. “I mean, I’m fine. I’m no worse off than Ace or Marco. Ace is far worse off than me.”

“Comparing your pain to someone else’s can end up being as damaging as what hurt you in the first place,” Shanks warned, but he looked empathetic. “Are you still hearing voices?”

Deuce tensed, eyes snapping to Benn accusingly before returning to Shanks. “I’m not,” he lied before trying to defend himself. “I’m not crazy.”

“I wasn’t implying that,” Shanks promised. “Occasionally I’ll see your eyes go red. The color is more flickering than anything, and somewhat dim, but it’s unmistakable.”

“Red?” Deuce furrowed his brow, lifting a hand to touch his cheek beneath his mask. “I really haven’t been crying that much. I mean at all — not since Ace woke up.”

“The color and the voices are the effect of a singular cause,” Shanks explained. “Which would be Haki.”

Deuce’s mind blanked as he opened his mouth to reply without thinking. “I don’t have Haki,” he argued. “I’m not a combatant, and I’m not the kind of person who could even develop a skill like that. I’m just some low life noble born medical dropout turned pirate.” He pointed at himself as if to clarify who he was talking about.

“Everyone is predisposed to Haki, their birth has nothing to do with it,” Shanks said. “You’ve been immersed in fighting and piracy for a long time, you already know what Haki is and you’ve seen people use it. Haki abilities are normally unlocked during a time of great fear and stress, so it would be perfectly reasonable to assume you unlocked the ability during the war.”

Deuce stared at the newspaper sitting on the table. He remembered when Ace first used Haki, when they were still sailing on the _Piece of Spadille_ as part of the Spade Pirates. When he fought Vice Admiral Dorrow on Sabaody Archipelago. Deuce also had to recall during the war when the executioners were aiming down their weapons at Ace’s neck, but a shattering cry from Luffy had knocked them both out. At least two dozen marine soldiers had collapsed around the seventeen year old.

Conqueror's Haki.

Deuce had only seen it used a handful of times, as it was an extremely rare talent, even in those with predispositions for Haki.

“Say I believe you and I really do have Haki,” Deuce tested, picking at his nails. “What kind is it? There are three, right?”

“From what I’ve seen, from what Benn has told me about finding you on the field, and from what I know myself, you seem to have developed Observation Haki.” He smiled a little too cheerfully. “It appears to be very strong, too, which is unheard of from a new user.”

Deuce ducked his head and rubbed his eyes, remembering the sudden, almost painful _snap_ he’d felt in his head before the loud voices had assaulted him. “I — I guess it’s good to know I’m not going crazy.”

“Considering how strong it is now, with a bit of training it could be very powerful.”

Deuce buried his face into his hands, no longer bothering to keep up the pretense that he was okay. “Can I shut it off?” he asked miserably. “It’s hard to sleep. My head is killing me. I can feel people around me, and I can hear their voices, but I don’t want to. I just want it to be quiet.”

“You can control it so it doesn’t interfere in your day to day life,” Shanks admitted, “but it’s not something you can just shut off or get rid of. You shouldn’t want to, it’s a helpful skill. Especially for those of us who aren’t enhanced by Devil’s Fruit abilities. Observation Haki can boost your senses, and at some level you can even develop an extension that’s sort of like premonition. Guess work, to be frank. You can guess attacks and dodge them before they come. Your empathy levels are heightened to the point where you can feel other people’s emotions if they're strong enough. That’s why you heard voices at Marineford, because what other circumstance would trigger extreme emotions if not a bloody war?”

“I can sometimes hear them on the ship,” Deuce mumbled. “I can’t really… make out what the topics of conversation are, but I can hear whispering and muttering.”

“That’s how powerful your Observation Haki is,” Shanks explained. “As a doctor you already have a strong capacity for empathy, which only strengthens your Haki capabilities. As I said, you just need a bit of training.”

“And it’ll help shut out the voices?”

“Until you actually want to hear them,” Shanks confirmed.

Deuce’s shoulders slumped, dropping his hands to his lap and glancing over at the sword. He wanted to be useful beyond healing injuries. He wanted to be able to help Ace and protect him so he wouldn’t _need_ medical attention. If training and sharpening this new skill would help him do that, then Deuce was more than willing.

“Alright,” he agreed, looking over at the Red-Hair pirates. “I suppose since Ace will be training, I might as well have something to occupy my time as well.”

“Great,” Shanks smiled. “Benn and Yasopp are extremely skilled Observation Haki users, I’m sure they’d be happy to train you.”

“Sure!” Yasopp was still sitting behind Shanks, cleaning one of his pistols. “I’d love to throw some rocks at a kid!”

Deuce squinted at him before looking at Shanks, but Shanks looked satisfied by the comment, so Deuce looked at Benn instead. Benn was standing with his arms folded, leaning against the back of Shanks’ chair and rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“You’ll be fine. There are only so many ways to sharpen Haki abilities.”

“Great,” Deuce mumbled, looking at Yasopp again. “Maybe don’t aim for my head?”

Yasopp lifted his pistol up. “I never miss, doc.”

“Miss my head.”

The room was empty aside from Deuce when Ace returned. His hair still looked a little damp, but he was cleaner and smelled fresher. He was wearing long black pants and holding a towel over the wound on his chest.

Deuce had been sitting on the cot staring down at his closed journal, attempting to block out his thoughts and the whispers still making it through. Ace’s appearance immediately pulled his attention back to the present, lifting his head to look over at the door.

“You didn’t let the doctor redress your injuries?” Deuce asked as Ace shut the door and stepped closer.

“You’re my doctor.”

Deuce rolled his eyes with a sigh, getting up to retrieve his first aid tools. “Sit.”

Ace dropped to sit unceremoniously on the edge of the bed, moving the towel to his head so Deuce had a clear view of the healing wound in his chest. “It’s gonna be quite a scar,” Ace noted.

Deuce dragged a stool over and sat down in front of his partner, setting rolls of bandages on the bed beside the other man and pulling on clean medical gloves. “You gonna start wearing a shirt now?”

Ace looked offended. “Never.”

The response was so characteristic of the former Logia user that Deuce had to laugh, and he remained smiling the entire time he was bandaging Ace’s chest and arm. It faded from his face as he finished up and the whispering voices returned.

“Are you doing alright?” Ace asked, rubbing the towel over his hair slowly to dry it.

Deuce glanced over at him as he peeled off the gloves and threw out all the garbage. “Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?” Ace furrowed his brow, clearly suspicious, so Deuce quickly turned to face him. “Your hair isn’t gonna dry if you just rub your head with a towel.”

He paced over to pull the towel from Ace’s hands, taking it upon himself to dry his hair for him. Ace dropped his hands to his lap, shutting his eyes with a grumble but making no attempt to stop Deuce.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Ace said, and Deuce hummed. 

“I know you’re not stupid. Just reckless and spontaneous.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve noticed how quiet you’ve been since I woke up.”

Deuce purposely draped part of the towel over Ace’s face, rubbing the front of his hair dry like he was sanding a splintering plank of wood. “I’m always quiet, Ace. I have a lot to think about, and I’m almost always thinking of my logs if I’m not treating someone’s injuries.”

“I think you’re avoiding the conversation,” Ace commented, his head tilting from side to side from the force of Deuce drying his hair. “Deu you’re gonna snap my neck.”

Deuce stopped, pulling the towel away and reaching out to stroke his fingers back through Ace’s hair. Ace used to have the unusual talent of drying his hair quickly, something Deuce guessed was another effect of his Devil’s Fruit. Without it, Ace had to rely on towels and air. It was probably hard to accept. Maybe that was why he was picking on Deuce about being “quiet”, because he was trying to distract himself from his own issue.

“I don’t know, you look kind of nice with wet hair,” Deuce complimented, tucking a section of Ace’s hair behind his ear. Ace stared at him with an alarmed expression, and Deuce felt his cheeks heat when he realized what he’d said. He quickly blurted a continuation. “Gives you a wonderful drowned rat appearance!”

“Huh?!”

Deuce threw the towel in his face before backing up and walking around the bed to the other side. “All I’m saying is I know this is going to be a huge adjustment for you! Not having your flame abilities so having to learn to live without them; but it’s not like you’ve never not had that power before!” He threw himself on the cot, burying his face in the pillow. “You’re going to be okay. Red-Hair is going to train you and by the time you’ve mastered Haki and swordplay then you won’t even miss the Mera Mera. Okay?”

Ace was quiet for long enough that Deuce was afraid he’d upset him, only relaxing when Ace responded. “I know you're probably right,” he said. “Thank you.” The cot dipped as Ace moved closer, tugging on the back of Deuce’s hair. “Although that doesn’t change the fact you’re avoiding the conversation.”

“There is no conversation,” Deuce said into the pillow. “Go to sleep.”

He rolled his head to look after Ace when he got off the bed, watching him step over to the table to turn the lantern flame lower. He had the newspaper in his hand when he came back to the bed, and Deuce quickly hid his face again before Ace plopped onto his back next to him.

“He’ll be okay too. You’re little brother.” Deuce looked at Ace again. He was lying on his back, holding the newspaper above his face with a tight frown on his lips. “I saw how strong he was at Marineford. He’s got a will as strong as yours. Both of you are gonna get through this, and I promise you’ll be able to see him again.”

Ace was quiet for a few jarring moments before lowering his arms to set the newspaper on his chest, staring at the ceiling instead. “After I’ve gotten stronger,” he decided. “When I can use Observation and Armament Haki without struggling, when I can fight with a sword; Shanks is right, I’ll need a weapon beyond my fists. If it has to be a sword, fine.”

“At best it will be a good companion to your Haki abilities,” Deuce said. “You’re learning Red-Hair’s fighting style from Red-Hair himself. You’ll have been trained by two Yonkos by the end of this. I don’t think anyone else can say that.”

“Yay me,” Ace mumbled.

Deuce moved one arm from where he’d tucked it under the pillow, reaching out to squeeze Ace’s shoulder. Ace sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes with his fingers.

“I’m sorry. I know.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You went through something horrible, Ace. It’s not surprising that it left a residual negative effect on you. It’s going to take time, and you’re going to have moments where you aren’t yourself; but you never have to feel guilty about it.”

Ace rolled his head to meet Deuce’s eye. “I know you’re going to be here, and it makes me feel a lot better about the situation I’m in. I think if I were alone on this ship, I would be a lot worse off. I think I would have lost my mind by now if I didn’t have you here, and I can’t thank you enough. Just for being here. I want to be there for you too, but you have to let me.” He shifted to lie on his side so he could watch Deuce, who quickly averted his eyes to stare at the bandages on Ace’s chest. “I haven’t asked you what happened at Marineford yet. I can’t imagine what you went through, what you witnessed from the battlefield. When I woke up you were clinging to me, your eyes were red from crying, and you broke down sobbing when you saw me awake. Maybe it’s not fair to ask you, but I want to know what I can do, if I can do anything.”

Deuce felt every muscle in his body straining from the effort to not shake. “I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

“Deuce I’ve known you for three years. You’re my partner. Do you really think I wouldn’t notice when my closest friend is acting unlike himself?” Deuce winced and Ace sighed. “Please talk to me.”

Deuce met Ace’s careful eye, and his heart seized in his chest at the pure, unfiltered _care_ the other man was expressing in his face alone. Somehow it made Deuce relax, feeling more comfortable — and more exhausted. Everything seemed to settle on his shoulders at once, and he shut his eyes, pulling his hand away from Ace’s shoulder to rub his eyes.

“I’m just tired,” Deuce admitted finally. “Even when I’m trying to sleep I feel… _so much._ I feel energy and hear people talking. I didn’t know what was wrong with me before, but Red-Hair said I must have unlocked some form of Haki during the war.”

“What? You can use Observation Haki now?” Ace sounded excited and concerned all at once.

“I guess. Towards the end of the fight I felt something physically snap. I heard it. Something in me broke. Suddenly I could… hear and feel things that weren’t mine — my emotions or thoughts. It got quieter when we left Marineford, but it hasn’t completely stopped. Sometimes it gets overwhelmingly loud again, and I feel like I might faint. It’s a lot. Too much.”

“Deuce…”

“Yasopp and Beckman are going to try and help me manage it,” Deuce explained. “So when we get to the island, that’s what I’ll be doing while you’re training with Red-Hair.”

“That explains why you’ve been so off,” Ace murmured, stroking his hand up and down Deuce’s back. “I’m sorry. I definitely should have noticed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t want you to notice. You had more than enough to worry about.”

“I’ll be honest, I’d much rather worry about you,” Ace confessed. “Maybe I can help too. My Observation Haki isn’t that great, and I need some training myself, but I can still support you.”

“Yeah,” Deuce smiled weakly. “I guess we can support each other.”

The lantern on the table flickered. Deuce could feel the weight lift from his shoulders as Ace moved his hand gently across them, comforting him the same way Deuce had comforted Ace before. The light died, but Deuce didn’t mind, curling closer to Ace and draping an arm around him so they were holding each other. Deuce carded his fingers through the back of Ace’s hair to undo the tangles.

“If it makes you feel better about not noticing,” Deuce started, “being around you makes it easier. I can feel people’s energy, so I can feel yours. When we’re together, for some reason your energy and presence blocks out everyone else’s. It’s peaceful.”

“That does make me feel better,” Ace said, pressing his face into Deuce’s shoulder. “And if it means anything, I actually sleep when you’re here.”

“That means a lot,” Deuce laughed. “Try to sleep now. I wasn’t lying when I said I was tired.”

“Oh you want me to shut up?”

“I would appreciate it, yes.”

Ace was only quiet for a minute before speaking again, though his voice was quiet. “Maybe it’s a good thing this happened. At the end of our training, maybe we’ll both be stronger.”

Deuce reached down to the sheets and blankets around their legs, dragging them up and over their shoulders before winding both his arms around Ace. “I promise you I’ll get stronger. I know I’m not much of a fighter, but I don’t _ever_ _want to lose you again.”_ His voice lowered and cracked the more he spoke, until he was whispering, his grip on Ace so tight that his arms were shaking.

Ace slowly lifted his arms around Deuce, pressing the palms of both hands into his back to keep him close. “I promise I’ll get stronger so you don’t have to.”

Deuce pinched his eyes closed, pressing his cheek against the side of Ace’s head. “I love you. You know that?” Ace didn’t answer, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “I’ll say it as many times as I have to until you believe me. Me, everyone on the _Moby Dick,_ everyone from the Spades; why do you think we all stayed when you burned the flag and decided to join Whitebeard? We stayed for you, because we all love you. Even if you don’t believe me now —”

“No, no, I… I do believe you. I believe you, it’s just…”

“I know, Ace.”

“I love you too.”

Deuce smiled, feeling something like pride. What other person could boast that Portgas D Ace vocally confirmed his affection for them? Aside from Luffy, perhaps, but who knows?

“Thank you,” Deuce whispered. “Coming from you, that means the world.”

Ace mumbled something incoherent, probably a disagreement that he knew would start an argument if Deuce heard. Deuce meant it though. Ace’s words meant the world, because to Deuce, Ace _was_ the world. Maybe after taking the time to heal and train, Ace would finally start to believe it.


	5. Post Marineford — Part 5: Deuce

They reached the island that Shanks had chosen as their training grounds a full month after the war at Marineford. By that point the rest of the crew knew Ace was there, but aside from the captain himself, no one knew how he’d been revived. They were under the belief that Ace had survived the attack with only scars, and Deuce was happy to let them continue thinking that.

The crew set up a campsite where the beach and forest edge met. They tied rope between trees or stakes in the ground and hung large canvas sheets over them, nailing the edges into the earth to create a dozen make-shift tents. It was clear that the crew was planning to stay for a while, but that was nothing new for these particular pirates.

The first time the Spade pirates ran into the Red-Hair pirates was when they were holding out on a winter island close to the Red Line. This island was far more pleasant, and actually reminded Deuce a bit of Sixis where he first met Ace. It made him feel unexpectedly nostalgic and thoughtful.

“You’re not planning to hide the ship?” Ace asked, staring out at where the  _ Red Force _ was anchored.

“Well, we could,” Shanks said, “but remember I said ships don’t pass by here very often. It’s so close to the Calm Belt that Sea Kings are pretty common. The Log Pose would indicate this island as a danger zone, so most pirates tend to avoid it completely.”

“It’s beautiful here,” Deuce commented, staring inland with his back to the sea. “Like a lost paradise.”

“Yes, it is picturesque,” Shanks agreed, turning away from the shoreline to take a few steps towards the campsite. “Closer to the center of the island there are a number of, ah, not so friendly creatures.” He glanced at the two younger pirates. “This can be your first test. See if you can tell how many living things are on this island. Both of you, of course.”

Deuce frowned. “I don’t think —”

“Have a little faith in yourself, doc,” Shanks urged, waving his hand towards the island. “Go on, take a crack at it.”

Deuce sighed and closed his eyes. So far he wasn’t very fond of his Observation Haki. It was uncomfortable and made it hard to concentrate. That was why he needed training, because Deuce had no idea how to use it or control it.

He tried, opening his mind and reaching out to the condensed presence of Shanks’ crew at the edge of the trees. Deuce could feel them, and he could feel Shanks. For a moment his concentration faltered, because Ace’s presence was overwhelming. Deuce could feel the man’s heat in his own chest, despite the bit of distance between them. All Deuce could feel was Ace, and it was comforting.

He tried to reach further into the island, but the most he could pick out was scattered groups of living beings somewhere deep inland. They were far away, though, on the mountain or on the opposite side of the island.

Deuce sighed in defeat, opening his eyes and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Nothing,” he said.

Ace looked at Shanks. “I can sense the crew. A few people are following a path into the forest, but I can’t sense any deeper than that.”

“There’s a pool of fresh water around the base of the mountain,” Shanks said. “They’re probably getting some to drink. What about you, doc?”

Deuce was gaping at the trees with wide eyes, feeling somewhat alarmed and embarrassed. “I — uh.”

“Anything?”

Deuce looked at Shanks before quickly looking back at the trees, then at the toes of his boots. “I can’t count them,” he said. “They’re not near the beach.”

“You can sense something further inland?” Ace asked.

Deuce looked over at him, taken aback at the grin he was wearing. “No, just… I mean… it’s a cluster, I can’t tell how many…”

“Where are they?” Shanks asked. “Don’t be embarrassed, this is a good way to assess what you’re capable of.”

Deuce hunched his shoulders, pulling his hands from his pockets to pick at his nails. “I can’t tell how many there are, but I can sense… large clusters of living things somewhere on the mountain. There are a few clusters, some are smaller than others. They might be on the opposite side of the island rather than the mountain, but I don’t know.”

“That’s excellent!” Ace exclaimed. “I can’t believe you can sense that far! I can’t even do that! That’s awesome, Deuce!”

“Yeah it’s fantastic,” Deuce mumbled, then commented honestly. “I don’t feel threatened by them.”

“No, you probably won’t unless they feel threatened first.” Shanks admitted. “Don’t worry though, they don’t come near the beach.”

“Why’s that?” Ace asked, and Shanks hummed with a smile.

“Because they know I’m here,” he said, walking towards the camp.

“Lovely,” Deuce said, then turned to Ace. “No instigating fights with the island monsters.”

Ace immediately frowned, and the excited glimmer to his eyes faded as he offered Deuce an innocent look. “Who, me? Why would I do that?”

Deuce rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets and starting after the others. “Yeah you would never.”

“Never mind that though,” Ace followed after Deuce. “You weren’t kidding when you said your Haki was strong! That’s incredible!”

“I didn’t say that. Red-Hair said that; and I’m still not a fan, just making that clear.”

“If you ask me, Observation Haki is probably the most useful of them.”

Deuce snorted. “Compared to intimidating your enemies simply by looking at them or making armor out of nothing to block Logia users? Sure, I can sense energy.”

“You say that now, but as soon as you can really control it, I guarantee you’re going to love it,” Ace said, patting Deuce on the back. “Besides, it may come in handy for you in the future.”

Deuce hummed. “At best I’ll be able to locate you easier when you run off to do fuck knows what, as you usually do.”

“Hey I’ll be good.”

“I’m just happy we’re on an island so I can sort of keep track of you.”

Ace paused, looking back at the shore. “Actually now that you bring that up… I wonder if I can swim again?”

“Not right now.” Deuce grabbed the back of Ace’s shirt before he could wander off. “It’s getting late, swimming in the ocean at night is definitely not smart.”

Ace looked back at Deuce. “Is it my imagination or are you even more naggy than you were before?”

Deuce arched an eyebrow. “Oh it’s not your imagination, but I think I have a right to be as obnoxious as I want. You want to argue?”

Ace seemed to consider before looking sheepishly to the sand. “No.”

“Appreciated.” Deuce let go of Ace’s shirt collar and turned. “Come on, we should help set up camp. No heavy lifting, though, got that?”

“I think I’m healed enough to carry something heav—”

Deuce paused in his steps when Ace stopped mid-word, turning to look back at where the other man had frozen. His right hand was pressed against the bandages above his sternum. His face had gone starchy white, and his eyes were wide. The only way Deuce could describe it was that Ace looked frightened.

“Ace, hey!” Deuce stepped quickly up to his friend, taking him by the shoulders. “Hey, are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“No, I mean, it’s…” Ace’s face contorted. “It’s tight. It’s never felt like that before. It itches and it stings a little. It’s… kind of hard to breathe.”

“Alright,” Deuce said, even though it most certainly wasn’t alright. “Can you walk?”

“Uh-huh.”

Deuce moved to Ace’s left, winding an arm around his waist. “Put your arm around me, I’ll help.”

Shanks and his closest officers had commandeered a firepit farthest to the left, better hidden by palm trees. It had the perfect view of the rest of the crew, the beach, the bay and the ship. Yasopp was crouched down trying to light a fire. Lucky Roux, Shanks, and Benn Beckman were sitting around the pit using crates and fallen logs as seats. All four of them looked up when they heard footsteps.

Shanks looked startled when he noticed Ace’s condition, leaning forward with his hand on his knee like he was readying to stand. “What happened?” He asked, watching Deuce help Ace sink onto a log across from him.

“The scar hurts,” Deuce said, sitting on Ace’s left. “Do we have water?”

Benn, who was sitting to the left between Deuce and Shanks, held out a flask. “Here.”

Deuce took it from him with a grateful nod and turned back to Ace. He placed his right hand on the other man’s back. “Drink,” he instructed, holding the flask out. “Try not to move too much.”

Ace took the flask but didn’t immediately open it, instead opting to stare at the firepit with a miserable sort of longing in his eyes as the bundles of sticks and wads of paper finally caught flame. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you not to apologize, didn’t I?” Deuce scolded gently.

“Don’t worry about pushing yourself,” Shanks added. “We can handle setting up the campsite and getting food and water. I want you to relax and focus on recovering.”

“It hasn’t acted up like this before,” Ace said. “Is this normal?”

“The wound itself has healed  _ a lot _ since Marco treated you on the ship,” Deuce said. “It’s scabbed over and already scarring at the edges, so I’d expect it to itch a lot.”

“It doesn’t just itch though,” Ace mumbled. “It’s tight, and achy, and it’s hard to breathe. I feel like something is  _ wrong. _ Not with me, just in general. I feel like something bad is happening.”

“Maybe it’s not physical,” Shanks offered, looking thoughtful. “Maybe it’s psychological.”

“What do you mean by that?” Deuce asked hesitantly.

The Yonko pointed at the scars on his face and Deuce felt Ace’s back tense under his hand. “These will occasionally ache terribly, to the point where it feels like it just happened. That happens when the man who caused these scars is up to something.”

“Blackbeard,” Ace growled under his breath, hunching lower and dropping his head.

Deuce pressed his palm firmly against the middle of Ace’s back, glancing at Shanks. “So you’re saying it could be something like premonition?” He asked. “Like Haki?”

“I figure it’s something like that, yes.” Shanks lowered his hand. “If it’s the same, then maybe the one who caused Ace’s scar is up to something that will dramatically change the future.”

Deuce swallowed around his tongue, which was suddenly cotton dry. “... Akainu…”

Ace trembled a bit. Deuce probably wouldn’t have even noticed if he wasn’t physically pressed against his side with a hand on his back. That was definitely the last thing Deuce was expecting Shanks to say, and by Ace’s reaction, he wasn’t very pleased by the theory either. Deuce could feel his friend’s anxiety, the strain making his chest uncomfortably tight. He felt like he was close to tears, and blinked rapidly as he stared into the fire.

Was this his Haki? Was he feeling Ace’s emotions? He felt woozy — because Deuce said that name? It did make sense that the name of the one who killed him would terrify him. Deuce immediately vowed to not say the Admiral’s name out loud ever again, for Ace’s sake at least.

“We’ll probably know soon enough,” Shanks offered, but Deuce could tell it didn’t make Ace feel any better.

Deuce shot Shanks a glare, which left the man looking startled, then sheepish, scratching his neck and averting his gaze away from Deuce to look awkwardly off to the side.

Deuce wrapped his fingers around the hand Ace was holding the flask with. “Drink,” he ordered again, more firmly this time, and Ace finally pulled off the top of the flask to do so.

“I think I might be done for the day,” Ace confessed after taking a drink of the water, rubbing his chest to relieve some of the ache.

"That's completely fine,” Shanks said. “It’s already been established that your training won’t be starting until the good doctor gives the okay. Until then, try to take it easy. Your health comes first.”

Ace sighed, listing sideways to lay his head on Deuce’s shoulder. Deuce moved his hand from his partner's back to wrap his arm fully around Ace's shoulders. He was still trembling slightly, but the longer Deuce held him the calmer he seemed to grow.

The group of six around the fire were peacefully silent, though the rest of the crew were as boisterous as ever. Deuce set his chin atop Ace's head to watch the men move about the island to finish setting up camp. Some of them were breaking open crates and bringing out food and drink. A group of them led by Rockstar were returning from the forest with barrels of water. A few of them were sparring on the beach, and Deuce watched four of them haul off towards the reef with buckets and fishing poles.

It felt surreal, sitting on an island in the presence of one of the strongest pirate crews in the New World, with the pain of Marineford nothing but a memory. Ace was alive and leaning against him, face pressed to the side of his neck and securely under his arm. He was warm even without his fire abilities. After a few moments of silence he was asleep, and Deuce had to take the flask from him before it could fall.

"Sorry for all the trouble." Deuce handed the flask back to Benn, who took it before pulling the cigarette from his mouth.

"Don't be."

"You've got a good heart in you, kid," Yasopp said with a smile, still crouched by the fire and dropping sticks and logs into it. "With a partner like you by his side, he'll be fine."

Deuce looked away, hyper aware of the scent of soap from Ace's hair. "I hope you're right…"

The next few days were a blur. Ace's mood was unstable at best, and when he wasn't sulking in the tent the duo had chosen to share, then he was down on the beach. He became irritable when people tried to talk to him, and only ever tried to keep his manners in check around Shanks and his top commanders. Otherwise he was a firecracker without any of the fire.

The only person he wasn’t prone to snapping or glowering at was Deuce, but even the doctor felt like he was walking a fine line between Ace's good graces. It was the first time he was actually happy to have woken his Haki. Thanks to his sudden sensitivity to people's emotions, especially Ace's, Deuce was able to easily pick up when his friend wanted space and silence, or when he was okay to talk to or touch.

It was a little hard to get used to, and Deuce always felt a twinge of agony in his chest when he realized Ace was in a mood that he couldn't be shaken out of. Deuce was left feeling helpless, because he knew trying to comfort Ace would have the opposite effect, but the caretaker in him miserably insisted he should still try. Deuce fought his instincts and planted himself somewhere he could still watch over Ace while also giving him the space he needed.

He absolutely hated it.

It was on the fifth day. Deuce was sitting in the sand beneath a palm tree, knees pulled up and arms folded on top of them. His journal was sitting beside him untouched, and his eyes were on the water's edge where Ace was pacing. He hadn't tried to get in the water luckily, but Deuce didn't want to take his eyes off of the other man for even an instant.

He was afraid that if he looked away, Ace would disappear. If he blinked then it would come out that everything had just been a dream.

Deuce would still be curled up on the ground at Marineford breathing in dust and smoke. Ace would still be facedown in a pool of his own blood, long dead and gone.

Deuce dug his nails into his elbows, pressing his lips tightly together as if that would settle his nerves. It didn't, so he clenched his jaw, curling his hands into tight fists. That didn't help either. At this point he couldn't tell if the anxiety coursing through him was his, or if it was residual energy coming from Ace.

He was so on edge that he jumped when someone approached him and dropped to sit in the sand beside him. Deuce jerked his head up to look, relaxing substantially once he'd confirmed he knew his visitor. Benn was quiet for a moment as he busied himself with fishing a new cigarette from his cloak and lifting a match.

Deuce didn’t know why he was there, but he didn’t spare the man more than a quick look before he turned his gaze forward back towards Ace. He was now crouching down at the edge of the water, and seemed to be looking at something.

Benn was silent for a long time. His cigarette had burned down halfway before he finally spoke, lifting a hand to pluck the smoldering cigarette from his mouth. “Killing yourself over worrying for your captain won’t get you anywhere,” he said.

The words had to filter in Deuce’s head for a minute before he actually realized Benn had spoken. Afterwards he shot him an irritated look. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean you won’t be any help if you’re just as tense as he is.” Benn stuck the unlit side of his cigarette back between his lips, taking a drag off of it. “It’s just exacerbated by your Haki, because your own anxiety blends with his. It’s because you have such a strong emotional connection to him, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. My point is if you let it consume you, then it will become your greatest weakness.”

“Isn’t that the point of me being here?” Deuce asked. “To train so I can control it?”

“Something like that.” Smoke curled from Benn’s mouth as he breathed the words. “I’m not trying to speak hypocritically. I understand where you are right now. When I met Shanks, he was fifteen.”

“You met him when he was _ fifteen?” _ Deuce asked in shock, and Benn shrugged one shoulder.

“You met Ace young, didn’t you?”

“Seventeen,” Deuce answered. “We both got shipwrecked on the same island at the same time by pure happenstance.”

Benn chuckled, smiling around the cigarette. “Sounds more like fate to me. Like you were meant to meet him.”

“Like some higher being manipulated our lives in such a way that we’d bump into each other at the right time in our lives,” Deuce commented, and Benn hummed.

“Yeah. It’s remarkable when it happens, isn’t it?” Benn ashed his cigarette over his arm. “I met Shanks in Loguetown just after Roger’s execution.”

Deuce tensed up. Immediately the conversation felt strained, and the doctor glanced over his shoulder before looking towards Ace. It felt strange talking about Roger. Even stranger to talk about Shanks after the man’s execution. Like it was a forbidden topic. Deuce had recognized that it was definitely not a topic Ace wanted anything to do with, and as Vice Captain, Deuce had taken it upon himself to ensure none of the other Spades ever brought the late Pirate King up; and if they did, Deuce would distract Ace. Maybe to protect him. Maybe to protect himself.

“He wasn’t in a good state of mind,” Benn continued as if he didn’t realize how fidgety Deuce had become. “When I met him first he was drunk and wandering the streets. I don’t think he really knew where he was. He was hurting and he was lost because a man he deeply respected and loved had been murdered in front of him.”

Deuce winced, swallowing the knot in his throat. Somehow he’d never considered the effect watching Roger die would’ve had on the people who loved him, especially someone as young as Shanks had been.

“Why did you join his crew if he was just a drunk fifteen year old?” Deuce asked, then looked over his shoulder again. “Please don’t tell him I said that.”

Benn rolled the cigarette between his fingers. “Why did you join Ace’s crew if he was just some kid you happened to meet on a random island?”

Deuce stared at Benn before looking at Ace. “I saw something beyond what was in front of me,” he confessed. “Something… bright. Something I knew instinctively I was willing to die for.”

“Yeah,” Benn uttered. “It’s the same for me. Beyond the drink, beyond the fifteen year old mourning for his lost captain, I saw ambition and a light I wanted to follow for the rest of my life. So far I have, and I don’t regret a single moment.” He stubbed out the end of his cigarette before pulling out another. “I’ve been with Shanks for the large majority of his life, and I met him when he was at his worst. So I know how much it takes to aid a lost man who’s hurting immeasurably. I know the loyalty and determination, I know how it feels when you can sense his pain, I know it can be debilitating. I know that whatever anyone says, it won’t deter you from staying with him.” Benn lit the end of the cigarette and looked at Deuce. “Something else I know is that this goes both ways. Everything you’re feeling, Ace is feeling it too. That’s the effect of Haki. It’s what happens when you have this strong of a connection to your captain.”

Deuce wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. “So what am I supposed to do then? I can’t help him right now.”

“I know,” Benn assured, “but you’re not doing yourself any good either by sitting here and waiting for a sign that he’s ready for a hug.”

Deuce blushed furiously, hiding his face in his arms. “I’m not doing that.”

“Come on, up on your feet,” Benn chided. “As I said before, this goes both ways. He’ll come find you when he’s ready. Right now is a good time for your training to start.”

“My training,” Deuce repeated. He continued to watch Ace for a moment before forcing himself to his feet to follow Benn. “You know smoking is bad for you,” he commented as Benn ashed the cigarette again.

“Allow me my vice, doctor,” Benn responded as if he was playing a recording.

Deuce got the distinct impression that he wasn’t the first person who’d ever nagged the man about his smoking, but damn Deuce if he would stop. He was a doctor after all, and smoking was a dangerous habit.

“So do you have any wonderful advice on how to deal with this?” Deuce asked, walking at Benn’s side.

“Not really,” Benn admitted. “For me, it’s just something I learned to live with. You need to learn to balance your captain’s anxiety with your own peace. It’ll keep you both grounded.”

“Is this something that every first mate has to deal with?”

Benn didn’t answer at first, choosing to take a long drag off of his cigarette instead. Deuce was starting to suspect that one of the reasons he smoked at all was so he had a reason to take longer to answer hard questions.

“Haki only plays a small part in it,” he said finally. “In addition to your personal bond. So no, not exactly. Not every first mate has the same relationship with their captain. You and I are exceptions. Anyway, keeping a level mind when he’s suffering will help you both in the end.”

“Oh, right, yeah. That actually makes sense. So you’re going to show me how to stay calm?”

“I won’t make you smoke, don’t worry,” Benn said, and Deuce snorted. “You already seem like a level headed lad, but you lose your composure when Ace is in danger or distress. Which is understandable, and I’m not shaming you for it. It’s hard to keep your composure when someone you care about is hurting and there’s nothing you can do to help. As the vice captain and first mate, your job is to keep both the captain and crew safe, and to do so you need to control your own emotions, even when your captain’s is drowning yours out.”

The two of them stopped when they reached the firepit beside Deuce and Ace’s tent, sitting across from each other. Deuce felt like he was stuck in a classroom about to learn a touch lesson from a teacher. Though that was the entire point, it still felt weird. He stuck his hands between his knees, rubbing his palms together and waiting for Benn to continue.

“What do you do in your free time?”

“Huh?”

“When you’re not with Ace or treating injured crew members. I navigate and draw maps, in addition to my smoking.”

“Oh, oh I get it.” Deuce pulled his hands back and reached for his journal. “I write. One day I want to publish an adventure journal, so whenever I have free time I’m working on my logs; writing notes, working on my prose. I sketch a little bit, too, but mostly I write.”

“That’s good,” Benn decided. “That takes a lot of concentration, and concentration is key in perfecting Observation Haki. Meditation also helps.”

“Meditation,” Deuce said, clearing his throat to keep from laughing in Benn’s face. “You want me to calmly meditate with a captain like Ace?”

“Oh I know,” Benn chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his eyes shut thoughtfully. “But it’s doable with some practice. Eventually you get used to the recklessness and learn to work around it.”

Deuce scratched the side of his neck. “I can’t really argue with that. Things are certainly easier to deal with when I already know what to expect.”

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Deuce flipped through his journal, turning pages and staring at the words, though not reading any of it. “Thank you,” he said, lifting his eyes to Benn. “We’ve just been talking, but I do feel calmer.”

“That’s something.” Benn tossed the cigarette stub into the fire pit, folding his hands on his knees and leaning forward. “In regards to your training, don’t worry about Yasopp shooting at you. He was just kidding.”

“Oh good, I was worried,” Deuce said in a monotonous tone.

Benn smirked before creasing his expression back into something serious. “He’ll probably throw rocks at you though.”

Deuce nodded. “Ah, well, I’ve gotta learn somehow.”

They carried on their conversation for the next half hour until Ace wandered back up to the camp. Deuce could feel his exhaustion. He shifted a few inches to the side so Ace could sit down beside him.

“Starting to get hungry,” Deuce commented so Ace wouldn’t have to. “It’s about time for dinner, isn’t it?”

Benn tucked yet another cigarette between his lips — Deuce offered him a disappointed glare that he ignored — and stood up. “Feels about that time. Any special orders?”

“I’d like a nice garden salad,” Deuce said, and Benn coughed on the smoke when he laughed.

“Right. I’ll go check in with the cook.”

“How about you?” Deuce asked when he turned back to Ace. “Hungry?”

Ace nodded. He was turning a shell around in his hand, probably one that washed in with the tide. He held it out for Deuce to take, which he did, before lying his head on Deuce’s shoulder.

“What’s this?” Deuce asked, feeling over the smooth ridges of the shell with his thumb.

Ace shrugged. “Shell.”

“I see that. What’s it for?”

“Found it,” Ace commented, and Deuce rolled his eyes. “It’s for you. Keep it.”

Deuce wanted to ask why, but decided not to. It was a pretty shell he supposed, an iridescent, shiny gray that almost appeared silver, speckled with smudged black spots. “Thanks,” he said, putting the shell in the pocket of his coat before reaching over to stroke a hand through Ace’s hair. 

“Because you’re taking care of me,” Ace said unexpectedly. “I know I’ve been difficult to deal with lately, and I’m sorry. I really can’t think of what else to do to thank you. So… shell.”

“You don’t have to thank me at all,” Deuce insisted, continuing to stroke his fingers through Ace’s hair. “I  _ want  _ to take care of you.”

Ace sighed. Deuce didn’t know if it was a satisfied sigh, or a sad one.

His unstable mood and anxiety lasted for another five days. On the morning of the eleventh day, Ace seemed to be back to normal. The color was back in his face and there was more light in his eyes.

“Still itches,” Ace admitted during breakfast, sitting around the warm fire with Deuce, Shanks, Benn, Yasopp, and Roux.

Yasopp was piling breakfast food into bowls for the duo while Roux prepared cups of coffee. Shanks was sitting bent over the newspaper, and Benn was cleaning out his impressive gun.

“That’s just the wound healing then,” Deuce said, taking the two bowls of food that Yasopp handed him and giving one to Ace. “Here, eat.”

“We’re glad you’re feeling better at least,” Yasopp said as he settled onto the log beside Roux. “We were getting worried.”

“Yeah,” Ace sheepishly huddled over his bowl. “I don’t know what the hell happened to me, but I don't ever want it to happen again. I thought I might be dying. Again.”

“Well,” Shanks murmured, and Deuce did not like how uneasy he looked. “I think I might know what happened.”

“To me?” Ace asked. “You mean you know why I suddenly had an anxiety attack that lasted almost two weeks?”

“Unfortunately.” Shanks held the newspaper out.

Deuce almost didn’t want to read whatever article had put that expression on Shanks’ face, but eventually he did accept the newspaper. He leaned towards Ace and opened the newspaper so they could both read over the words printed there. Deuce felt a jolt of fear shoot through him, clenching his fists around the edges of the paper as he read through the article.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Ace stared at the article, but he turned away so quickly that Deuce got the sense he only read it once. He focused on his breakfast and began to shovel food into his mouth. It was likely an attempt to completely block out the sudden stressful emotions triggered by the news. He was finally starting to feel better, and now this.

“Aokiji versus Akainu. A ten day all out battle to decide who the next Fleet Admiral would be.” Shanks summed up the lengthy article. “Akainu won. Aokiji resigned. You could feel it,” he spoke directly to Ace, who acted like he couldn’t hear. “That’s why the scar bothered you, and why you felt so anxious. It was a warning signal.”

“We’re safe here, right?” Deuce asked, handing back the paper.

Shanks smiled. “I promise we’re safe here. Even if the new Fleet Admiral does see my ship, he’s not stupid enough to try anything. Plus, remember he doesn’t know Ace is alive, so he has no reason to come after us. We’ll be fine.”

“The article says Akainu’s been sending out ships to search for Luffy,” Ace said, not lifting his head. “That Dark King… he can protect my brother, can’t he?”

“Without a doubt,” Shanks didn’t even hesitate to answer, and Ace nodded.

Deuce knew Ace well, and he felt the way he tensed before slowly settling down. He had no doubts that if Shanks had answered a moment later, or hesitated for even an instant, then Ace would have shot to his feet and demanded a way off the island to go after Luffy. Luckily he seemed to trust Shanks and take him at his word.

“Deuce, can I start training?” Ace asked without looking up from his bowl of food.

Deuce considered it for a moment before humming. “You should be fine now. Keep the bandages on until I say, and don’t strain yourself too much, but you can start exercising and studying now.” He turned to give Shanks a sharp look. “Don’t push him too much,” he ordered. “If you train him to the point where he’s hurting, you’re the one who has to drag him back to camp.”

“I won’t do anything to hurt him or make you mad at me, I assure you,” Shanks said. “I don’t like when doctors get mad at me.”

Benn snorted. Shanks cast a glare at him and his first mate turned his head down, suddenly fascinated with his coffee.

“While Ace is with Shanks, we can continue your study,” Benn said before lifting his cup to his lips.

“You’ve already got a basic understanding of your new abilities, so all that’s left is honing them!” Yasopp waved his fork at Deuce as if to emphasize his words.

Deuce could only stare at him before shifting his gaze to meet Benn’s eye. Benn shut his eyes and shook his head, looking tired. The past few days he, Yasopp and Lucky Roux had all begun working to help Deuce with his Haki, but Deuce spent the most time with Benn, which was nice.

Deuce liked all of them, but Benn was easy to talk to and effortless to get along with. He seemed to understand Deuce to the point where he knew what the younger man was thinking before he said anything, or why he was reacting to a situation the way he was. It was nice. The routine was nice. Having friends — a mentor — was nice.

Still, Yasopp had a certain way to help Deuce train, and Deuce looked at Ace to warn him. “So I’m gonna have bruises when you get back. Don’t be alarmed. Yasopp just has really good aim.”

“Well, there are only so many ways to perfect Observation Haki,” Ace admitted, and Deuce nodded, turning to look around the campfire.

“Okay so my captain has given you all permission to beat me.”

Ace choked on his food. Yasopp and Roux both started laughing into their drinks and food and Benn sighed.

Shanks rose to his feet, picking his sword up from where it had been propped and securing it to his belt. “Alright. Let’s not hesitate now that we've gotten the good doctor’s confirmation. On your feet, Portgas, let’s get moving.”

“Already?” Ace coughed. “I’m still eating.”

“Swallow the rest and let’s go.” Shanks was grinning. “We won’t be back till evening.”

“What about lunch?” Ace asked, shoveling the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and scrambling to his feet, dropping the bowl into Deuce’s hand as he passed him.

“You know how to hunt, don’t you?” Shanks asked, and Ace nodded.

“Yeah why do you think Luffy and I didn’t starve on Mount Corvo? We hunted all our food.”

“There you go, then. Hop to it.”

“Jeez.” Ace wiped his mouth with his sleeve, starting to follow Shanks before jerking to a halt and sprinting over to the tent where he’d left the sword Shanks had presented him with.

“You coming?!” Shanks called as Ace ran after him.

“Yeah, hang on!”

“See you for dinner, don’t get too badly beat up,” Deuce called, then considered for a moment before adding, “love you,” then turning back to his food.

Ace staggered over a rock as if taken by surprise by the confession. He mumbled incoherently like he was replying before running faster to catch up to Shanks, who was already at the path leading into the forest.

The group now consisting of four people was silent, but Deuce could feel the older pirates watching him, so he looked up to meet the three sets of curious eyes.

“What?” He asked.

“That was nice of you,” Yasopp commented.

Deuce shrugged. “I mean, whatever. After everything he’s been through, and considering his self worth issues, Ace needs to hear it from someone who means it.”

“I see,” Benn met Yasopp and Roux’s eyes.

Deuce ducked his head, scraping the prongs of his fork against the bottom of the bowl. “It’s not a huge deal. We’re friends, he knows I love him. Saying it daily won’t change anything.”

“You’d be surprised,” Yasopp said, and Roux leaned towards Benn.

“Daily, huh? Maybe we should hold him to that.”

Deuce stacked his empty bowl on top of Ace’s, setting the dishes aside before shoving his hands into his pockets. He froze when his fingers found the shell that Ace had given him, still safely in his pocket. The black and silver object had quickly become his lucky charm, though only a few days had passed since it had been gifted to him. Deuce would hold it in his hand like a worry stone whenever he was feeling uneasy or uncertain. He loved that shell, and he loved Ace, and Deuce wanted to make it a habit to tell Ace so, because it felt necessary.

Deuce couldn’t recall any time in his childhood where anyone in his family expressed their affection for him or told him that he was loved. He liked to imagine that when he was very small, his brother may have told him he loved him, but their relationship became strained as soon as he started medical school. After Deuce got older and started school himself, that strained relationship turned into something akin to mutual resentment and regret.

Thanks to that, Deuce knew how important it was to communicate emotion and feelings. He had no idea if his family loved him, because his father only ever ordered him not to embarrass him, his brother avoided him and acted as if he didn’t exist, his “friends” laughed at him, and his mother was so absent that Deuce only had a handful of memories where he even saw her. They never told him that they loved him, so he assumed he simply wasn’t.

Actions were important too, of course. The first person who came to mind in that regard was Luffy. After seeing how hard Luffy fought for Ace at Marineford, Deuce had no doubt that the kid  _ showed  _ his love for Ace while they were growing up, but who knew if he’d vocalized it? Maybe he didn’t even think about it. Maybe he just assumed Ace already knew.

Maybe on some level Ace  _ did  _ know, but the internalized hate and disgust the man harbored in the deepest pieces of his soul was so big that it was a second being to him. It was a constant voice clawing into his subconscious every time someone told him that they loved him. Every action of care and admittance of admiration was followed by a ghost of a voice tearing open deep scars in Ace’s heart.

_ “Why would anyone love someone like me?” _

It was such a simple phrase, but held so much trauma, repeated so often in the span of twenty years that Ace believed it. Truly believed that there was absolutely nothing to love about himself.

Deuce sometimes found himself wishing that Ace could see himself through someone else’s eyes. If he did, then maybe he’d fall in love too. If he saw himself through Deuce’s eyes, he would see his own goodness. He’d see how brightly he glowed, even without the Mera Mera. He’d see his own kindness and compassion, his bravery and loyalty and everything that made Deuce want to follow him in the first place.

There was no way Ace thought Deuce had stayed by his side all these years for nothing, did he? Deuce never wanted to be a pirate when he left home, but he’d thrown himself headfirst into the lifestyle for the sole purpose of staying with Ace. Everything Deuce had done was for Ace, and in doing so he’d found a way to live for himself. He’d continued his medical education under Marco despite vowing to never return to healing as a doctor.

Ace inspired him to be a better person, and Deuce loved him for it. Ace said he already knew Deuce loved him, but Ace had a tendency to fall into those moods where he stopped believing it. Those moments when his eyes would get so dark that Deuce could see the memories like reflecting glass. It was important to hear that you were loved, Deuce knew that, so he would say it as many times as necessary. He’d say it daily and not give Ace a chance to think maybe it was untrue.

Of course, actually saying it would probably be a little harder than Deuce expected it to be. That first night on the ship when he told Ace he loved him, he started to feel lightheaded. His stomach started flipping and his heart pounded in his chest. He became sheepish and almost afraid, until Ace said it back. Then the fear subsided and Deuce hugged him tighter. The confirmation that his feelings were mutual was a weight lifted and made it easier, but Deuce still hesitated to say it regularly. He wanted Ace to know, but he also didn’t want to annoy him.

So he would say it whenever he found a good break in the conversation. When they were going to bed at night and no one else could hear him, or in the morning when they were still half asleep. If Ace said it back, even if it was on a mumble that Deuce couldn’t understand, that would be fine. Ace was the one who needed to hear it, so Deuce wouldn’t take it personally when Ace didn’t say it back.

“Can we start training now?” Deuce asked loudly. “We’ve got a long day and —”

“Think fast!”

Deuce looked up just in time for a small rock to nail him in the forehead. Rather than the force, Deuce was shoved back by the shock, tipping over the log and falling onto his back in the sand. Roux was laughing as Yasopp cursed.

“Fuck, my bad, I didn’t think it would actually hit you.”

Deuce stared dimly up at the sky. However long they were going to be on this island, it was going to be twice as long with Yasopp as one of his teachers.


	6. Post Marineford — Part 6: Ace

Training with Red-Hair Shanks, one of the four Emperors of the Sea, was an experience to be sure. After a few weeks they had fallen into a steady routine that left Ace exhausted by the time he dragged himself back to camp at the end of each day. He would locate Deuce wherever he was and completely collapse beside him, using whatever was closest — whether it be an arm or a leg — as a pillow, and falling dead asleep.

By the time he woke up it would be dark out, and the rest of the crew would be enjoying dinner. No matter how much time had passed, Deuce would still be there allowing Ace to use him as a pillow. Normally he would be raking a hand through Ace’s hair or stroking his fingers along the back of his neck. Ace would be able to sit up just long enough to eat dinner (falling asleep a few times in the middle of it), and only make it back to the tent thanks to Deuce.

Training with Luffy on Mount Corvo was nothing compared to this. Shanks didn’t take it easy on Ace and certainly didn’t pull his punches. If Ace had worried the man would treat him delicately because of who his father was, then he wasn’t worried about that anymore, and if having one arm really cut Shanks’ strength in half, then Ace would  _ not  _ have wanted to fight him when he had both his limbs.

In the beginning, Shanks focused on Ace’s swordplay, footwork, and strengthening his Haki. Three months of this passed before he started to elevate the younger pirate’s training.

“One thing I’ve been meaning to bring up,” Shanks started as Ace was shifting stances with the saber in his right hand. “Your Observation and Armament Haki are both notable. It’s only been three months and you’ve started to show improvement in both.”

“Well I already had Haki,” Ace confessed. “I unlocked it ages ago. I just… never used it because I had my Devil’s Fruit. Your training has helped a lot.”

“Good to know,” Shanks said, then continued. “I wanted to ask if you knew about Conqueror's Haki. Or if you had it?”

Ace was quiet, dragging the tip of his blade through the dirt at his feet. “I know what it is. Pops had it. You have it. Luffy has it too.” He lifted his head, his eyes distant and awed. “Man, everytime I think about that moment during the war… makes me speechless.”

“What about you?” Shanks asked. Ace didn’t reply, drawing designs in the dirt at his feet and keeping his head bowed. Shanks continued without prompting. “The reason I ask is because it’s a very rare form of Haki. It allows its user to exert their own willpower over other people or creatures. It’s how I chased off the Sea King that tried to eat Luffy — though he did get my arm.” He reached over to pat his shoulder. “With Conquerors Haki you can dominate the enemy to comply with your wishes, or incapacitate them completely. It can’t be attained through training, you have to be born with it, and only one in several million people are born with it. The world government considers it to be an extremely dangerous threat, but also highly valuable when it’s in their hands. ”

Ace still didn’t respond. He continually drew S’s in the sand before crossing them out. Then took his time drawing Whitebeard’s jolly roger. As if sensing Ace was uncomfortable, though Ace didn’t think it would be hard to notice, Shanks spoke again.

“It’s often considered to be an inherited talent —”

“I don’t know,” Ace interrupted, scraping away the jolly roger. “I get why you’re asking, cuz Roger had it, but… look, I’m not Roger.”

“No, you’re not Roger,” Shanks confirmed, “but your Haki  _ is  _ powerful, and if you do have this particular form, then I should be able to help you control it. It could come in handy in the New World.” He paused, then shrugged.  _ “But, _ if you’re sure you don’t have it —”

“I — something strange happened… when I was a kid.” Ace tapped his sword against the side of his boot, his free hand curling and uncurling at his thigh. “I’ve never told anyone about it before. I didn’t understand it for the longest time. Luffy and I got into a bit of trouble. It was my fault, I… there was this group of pirates who lived in Grey Terminal, beside Goa. A lot of stuff played into why we were there, but we were helping them carry boxes. We didn’t know it was explosives, we thought it was cargo or something. The nobles of High Town had paid the pirates to set a fire in Grey Terminal. Luffy and I got stuck in the middle of it. When we tried to get out, the pirates caught us. They had us pinned and were gonna kill us. One of them had me in a chokehold and another was… he had a sword and was gonna hurt Luffy, so… I told them to stop.” He paused, then shrugged. “They stopped. A few of them collapsed. The one with the sword collapsed and I ran over to help Luffy. I don’t know, it happened really fast.”

“Did it happen again?” Shanks asked. “After that incident I mean?”

Ace nodded his head slowly. “Once or twice. I unlocked Armament and Observation at the same time, when I was seventeen. We stopped at Sabaody Archipelago and I ended up fighting a Vice Admiral who tried to recruit me into the Warlords. I didn’t know what it was, though. He mentioned the word Haki, but I really didn’t care about it until my crew and I got dragged onto Pops’ ship.”

“When else did that same thing happen?” Shanks pressed.

Ace scratched the back of his neck. “It happened once when I was protecting Deuce, but… I haven’t… used it since. It only seems to happen when I’m desperate to protect someone and have no other options.”

“How old were you when it first happened?”

“Ten,” Ace answered. “Luffy was seven.”

“You were only _ ten?”  _ Shanks looked stunned. “What you’re describing is definitely Conquerors Haki, and I’m really not surprised you inherited it considering your talent and aptitude for it, but  _ ten? _ That’s unheard of.”

Ace crossed out another S, before scraping the blade across the dirt to destroy all the doodles he’d etched into the ground. “I never wanted to use it,” he admitted. “Pops told me what it was, but I told him I didn’t want to know how to use it.”

Shanks watched him silently for a moment. “It was a connection to Roger, so you didn’t want it,” he guessed.

Ace lifted his head to glance at the man. “Look I don’t want to undermine whatever relationship you had with him, but that’s your prerogative, not mine.”

“I understand why, but this ability isn’t his alone.” Shanks said, and he looked cross. “He was just one of the people who possessed it. You shouldn’t refuse to use something this rare simply because you don’t want to be associated with him. It could come in handy. It could save your life. If your Haki had been stronger, then you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, and it’s very immature and irresponsible of you to refuse to even consider perfecting your Conquerors Haki simply because of your suppressed anger towards your father!”

His voice rose towards the end until he was snapping at Ace, who stared at him with wide, startled eyes. Then he felt ashamed, ducking his head to stare at the toes of his boots and pressing his lips together. He knew Shanks was right, and it was all he could do to keep from breaking into tears at the memory of Luffy’s face after Akainu had punched him.

The other man sighed, sheathing his sword and sinking to sit cross legged on the ground. “Ace. Growing up, what did you hear about Captain Roger?”

Ace stared at Shanks silently. The question woke a resurgent of memories, of voices and scowls and cruel words that used to coax him to the edges of cliff sides, where he would stand too close with freshly bandaged knuckles while someone loitered behind him either scolding him or laughing as he debated the consequences of jumping.

“Nothing good, then,” Shanks answered his own question.

Ace was staring off over his head, struggling to get a handle on his memories before shaking his head and blinking. He sat down where he’d been standing, mirroring Shanks’ cross legged stance and laying the saber across his lap.

“Dadan and the old man never said much about him,” he admitted, flicking the pad of his thumb against the edge of his sword to test the sharpness of it. “The old man never once tried to keep it from me, but sometimes I wish he had. Whenever I asked, Dadan would just tell me what she heard from everyone else. So I would go down to the bars in Edge Town and ask about Roger there. I didn’t understand…”

Speaking was uncomfortable. Reflecting on his childhood, on his strained one sided relationship with his father. On the things he heard from the people on Dawn Island when he was foolish enough to ask about Roger.

“I had no choice but to ask other people because Dadan wouldn’t tell me anything more than the old man did, and everyone I did ask… they all said the same things. So I grew up hearing the same things repeated over, and over, and over. After a while I stopped asking. I figured that I knew everything I needed to know about Roger, and I stopped  _ caring  _ enough to ask.”

“What did they tell you?” Shanks asked in a gentle voice. “What did you ask?”

Ace didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to confess his thought process. He didn’t want to give anyone a chance to break open his deepest insecurities and uncover why they’d developed. So for a long time he was quiet. Shanks didn’t push him. Instead he started to speak for himself.

“I don’t have any memories of my parents,” he admitted, and Ace tensed up. “I don’t even know what happened to them. My earliest memory was of the Roger Pirates. Your father and Rayleigh brought me onto the ship because I had nowhere to go. I was grateful to have the crew, but when I was growing up there were a few years where I wished I knew who my parents were. I wished I had a mother and father, and the same experiences as other children. I was angry and resentful of them. I automatically decided I hated them because they weren’t there, and I blamed them for not being there without even caring why they  _ couldn’t  _ be there.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Ace got the feeling Shanks was waiting for a response, but Ace gave none. The older man’s words were too close to home. Ace’s throat felt tight and uncomfortable, like he was close to tears, but that was ridiculous. Ace didn’t care nearly enough about Roger to cry about the fact he hadn’t been there.

“Captain Roger set me straight,” Shanks continued after a full minute of silence. “Understanding what happened to my parents, accepting my position, and forgiving them, helped me move on. Captain Roger told me that harboring my anger and feeling sorry for myself would only become more and more toxic to me, until it became an emotional weakness, a kind of weight attached to me that would keep me from getting any further in my life. I’m not saying you have to forgive your father,” Shanks quickly added, “but understanding what happened, for your sake, may be good.”

Ace had begun a fascinating game of collecting small rocks and pebbles from the ground around his shoes, stacking them into a tiny mound.

“I’m sure growing up you heard that Captain Roger was a horrible person, but coming from someone who knew him, I can tell you he wasn’t any more a bad person than Whitebeard or me. He was a pirate, so of course he did some unethical and illegal things, but he never did cruel things for the sake of cruelty. More than anything, he wanted an adventure, and he wanted to live an enjoyable life. He didn’t care all that much about treasure, and he never targeted civilians when we stopped at islands. He fought marines and other pirates, but what pirate doesn’t? He was similar to Whitebeard in some ways, but Whitebeard was far more reserved.”

“The world condemned me at my birth because of who my father was,” Ace stated. “They hated him so much that they joked about torturing his child and publicly humiliating him before executing him. A child, simply for being born. They wanted to torture and murder a  _ child. _ Do you know what kind of impact that has on a kid? On me? I was under the impression that literally everyone I met wanted me dead because they wanted Roger dead. It made no sense to me…”

“And did they?” Shanks asked. “Did everyone you meet want you dead?”

Ace turned a rock around in his hand a few times. “No. I made a friend eventually. The first person who learned who I was and didn’t care. Well… he was the first person I actually told. Dadan knew, the old man knew, but no one else did. Not until I met Sabo.” He set down the pebble, reaching over to the tattoo on his arm. “Before I met him, I used to… contemplate jumping from the cliffs. He kept me level headed with my feet on the ground. Even when he discovered who I was, he kept it a secret and stayed by my side. He didn’t  _ care  _ about Roger. He cared about me.”

“Sabo is —”

“Was,” Ace corrected, not looking up. “I met him when I was five. He was my first friend, my brother, like Luffy. His and my brother. It was the three of us against the world back then. We all talked about becoming pirates and leaving Dawn Island together. We all wanted to be captain, we all had different goals and aspirations, so we figured we’d be separated at some point, but… considering how fate played out, I think… I wouldn’t have minded much if I wasn’t the captain. So long as I had the chance to see him again.”

“I see,” Shanks hummed. “I’m guessing the past tense means…?”

“He’s dead.” Ace tossed a rock to the side. “He was murdered by a Celestial Dragon.”

A pause. Then Shanks spoke again. “I wish I could say something more profound than a simple apology, but I can’t.”

“It’s fine. It happened ten years ago.” Ace lifted a hand to rub his eyes. “That’s why I’m so worried about Luffy. Losing Sabo in such a messed up way really did a number on him. He cried himself unconscious when we found out. Dadan had to tie me to a tree so I wouldn’t charge into Goa and get myself killed with him.”

“Ace,” Shanks’ voice was soft, “do you want to die?”

Ace stared blankly at the ground, shaking his head. “I asked the old man if it was good that I was born. He said that living was the only way to figure that out.” He looked up. “I want to live, because I don’t think I’ve answered that question yet.” His eyes then became distant. “I can’t say I regret what happened, though. I died protecting my little brother. I don’t mind that. This second chance  _ means  _ something.”

That was right. It meant something. Ace had already decided that he was going to make the most of this second chance at life. He wanted to be better than he was, because he would never be able to get further in life if he clung to the resentment of his past.

“I want to understand,” Ace said softly. “I want to stop being angry. I’m always saying that I want people to stop judging me for being Roger’s son, but the people who actually matter have never once done that. I’m the only one who’s letting myself be dictated by my blood.”

“You may be his child, but your personalities are very different,” Shanks stated.

“Pops said that too,” Ace said, startled, and Shanks smiled.

“Though certain actions definitely remind me of him. Like your tendency to face things head on and not run, even at the cost of yourself. Captain Roger used to do that constantly. So often that I used to wish he  _ would  _ run away sometimes.”

Ace felt uncomfortably empathetic towards Roger then. “I can never run away from things. Whenever I’m facing something, my blood starts to boil, and I get scared that if I run, then I might lose something important.”

Shanks was smiling thoughtfully. Ace was scratching on top of the bandages around his wrist to keep himself busy.

“What was he like?” Ace asked finally. “I want to hear from someone who actually knew him, rather than hearsay from people who read second hand articles in the newspaper. I don’t want to be angry anymore. If understanding will help me move on enough that I can use my Haki unhindered, then fine. I want to understand. I want to move on from this.” He stared at Shanks desperately. “Maybe if some part of me can find some pride in my blood, then I can take strength from it, and use my connection to Roger to my advantage.”

Shanks didn’t answer immediately or start in on a story. He simply watched Ace with an unreadable expression and that same thoughtful smile. Ace suddenly felt nervous, sitting straighter.

“You don’t have to,” he added. “I can guess how difficult it may be for you to talk about him. It’s hard for me to talk about Pops, so —”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shanks interrupted. “I still get those moments of wistfulness where I’m sad and miss him, but enough time has passed that I can talk about him. Even if I wasn’t ready, you have more right than anyone in the world to hear these stories, and he would definitely agree. However!” Shanks got to his feet and unsheathed his sword. “This isn’t a day camp, this is training. So back on your feet! We can talk while we work.”

It was strange to actually learn about Roger from Shanks. The stories he repeated and the memories he shared were on a completely separate spectrum from everything Ace had heard before. His image of Roger turned on a violent axis with every word Shanks offered during their training sessions, and Ace found himself actually looking forward to bonding with the man through the old captain. Though they did have an unspoken agreement that the stories of Roger would be saved for training and not discussed when they were back in camp.

Ace still had mixed feelings about his father — he probably always would — but the more he heard from Shanks, the more he understood. The more he understood, the less painful it was to think about Roger, and the less angry Ace realized he was.

Though they didn’t discuss Roger around the campfire, Ace had no qualms about repeating the stories to Deuce when they were lying in their tent at night. The snores of the rest of the crew drowned out Ace’s voice, ensuring that the only one who heard his words was Deuce. They were laying face to face, just inches away from each other. A lit lantern was hanging above, sending dim gold light over them and casting soft shadows across Deuce’s face. Ace could see the confusion in the other man’s eyes as he talked.

“I always thought the marines caught him, or that he let them catch him,” Ace commented, whispering out the words that Shanks had relayed to him. “Shanks said Roger turned himself in.”

“Why would the Pirate King turn himself in?” Deuce asked.

“Because he was already dying,” Ace explained, watching Deuce’s eyes widen in shock before looking down to stare at the designs in the straw mat he was lying on. “Evidently he had a terminal illness that was entering its final stages. The only people who knew were his crew, and he only told them when he decided to disband.”

“He spent his last years conquering the Grand Line,” Deuce murmured, and Ace nodded. “How long did he have?”

“Shanks said their doctor gave him a little more than a year at the moment of their crew disbanding,” Ace said. “Evidently he’d been planning to turn himself in from the beginning. Probably because he figured being executed was better than dying of a physical ailment.”

“What about your mother? He must have been with her for some time before turning himself in.”

“A year, if the time line fits,” Ace said, “but Shanks didn’t know her. No one knew where Roger went after they split up.”

“I see,” Deuce murmured. “He must’ve been trying to protect her, then.”

“That makes the most sense.” Ace shut his eyes, pulling the blanket higher over his shoulder.

The tent was quiet for a drawn moment, before Deuce spoke again. “Did… did Red-Hair mention what illness Roger had?”

“No,” Ace admitted through a yawn. “I don’t think he knows. Why?”

Deuce took so long to answer that Ace opened his eyes to see if he’d fallen asleep. He was still awake, lying partly on his back and staring at the lantern, but he looked anxious. “Illnesses like that can sometimes be… passed on,” he explained finally. “So… I just want to know if I need to… keep an eye out for it.”

“... oh…”

Ace hadn’t even considered that it could be genetic. Somehow he didn’t think it would affect him, but even if it did, why worry about it now when he was alive and healthy?

“Hey, come on, don’t worry about that.” Ace reached out to poke Deuce in the cheek. “What are the odds I inherited something like that? I’ll be fine.”

Deuce shut his eyes and rolled onto his side to face his partner. “Can you do me a favor and tell me if you start to feel sick?”

“Deu, I never get sick.”

That had the doctor reopening his eyes, though they remained narrowed. “Yes, you do. You just get so sick you fall into a fever induced hallucination fest that you don’t remember when you recover.”

“That sounds fake.”

“Go to sleep, Ace.”

They were entering their fourth month on the island — five months since Marineford.

Ace thought about Luffy every day, and after some time he decided to follow in Deuce’s footsteps by finding a journal and beginning to put down his chaotic thoughts. Every page was filled with things he wanted to say to Luffy and questions he wanted to ask. He documented his training, taking special care to talk about Shanks and the Red-Hair pirates, because Ace knew his little brother missed them. Ace wanted to write as much as he could, so that when he met Luffy again, he would know Ace never stopped thinking about him. That he missed his little brother so much, every day. Every new day’s entry was addressed to Luffy. Ace wrote and wrote at the end of the day and into the night, until he was the only one still awake.

He was grateful that Deuce didn’t nag him into stopping and going to sleep, but the doctor was probably the one person who understood why Ace wanted to write. Not that it was good. They were just letters to his brother, not a story. Deuce was the writer between them, Ace was juvenile at best, but Luffy probably wouldn’t care. Ace just wanted him to know he wasn’t forgotten.

Once or twice, when Ace was feeling particularly lonely, he would write letters addressed to Sabo instead. A lot of those letters were just repetition of the same thing.  _ I miss you — I wish I could see you — I’m sorry. _ Even if it was a pointless endeavor, even if his beloved brother would never be able to read the letters, just putting his thoughts down made him feel a little bit better.

That was who Ace was writing to in the evening before dinner, sitting with Deuce on the bank backed by the cliffside where a waterfall of fresh water was cascading over the rocks to fill a pool. Most of the crew used this small lake when they bathed, which was what Ace and Deuce had been ordered to do after Ace returned from that day’s training covered in sweat and grime.

“I know how important it is for you to document everything — believe me — but can you put that down for ten minutes so I can give you medical attention?”

Ace looked up from his half finished letter. Deuce was sitting beside him with an open duffel bag of medical supplies and a pair of scissors in his hand. He was motioning for Ace with his other hand, but he didn’t look terribly irritated or annoyed. That was one of the many things Ace appreciated his friend for. Deuce was patient beyond belief, far more than Ace though he deserved.

Ace shut his journal and set it aside so he could face Deuce, holding his hands out for the doctor. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Deuce reassured as he held Ace’s hand and began to shear away the bandages around his wrists.

Ace didn’t have any desire to look at the scars, but they were part of him now. He’d end up catching glimpses eventually, so he forced himself to watch Deuce work. He pulled his hands back in when Deuce turned to discard the soiled bandages.

“They itch,” Ace commented, turning his hands over to memorize the uneven marks.

Scattered stripes of scars in various stages of healing circled both of his wrists. They were colored shocking white, red and purple, and the skin felt tight and dry. Despite having been free for months now, Ace could still feel the ghost sensation of Sea Prism Stone cuffs locked around his wrists.

Which wasn’t ideal.

“They’re essentially healed up,” Deuce explained, reaching out to take one of Ace’s hands and check the scarring. “Itchy scars are normal, but try not to scratch them open like you did before. We can get you some ointment to keep the skin from drying out, which should help some, but you can also massage the scars gently.” He rubbed his thumbs against the scars just below Ace’s palm, stroking them in small circular motions that actually  _ did  _ alleviate the itchiness and discomfort. “Let me know if they start hurting at all.”

“‘Kay,” Ace answered, staring down at where Deuce’s hands were.

His chest felt like it was filled with helium, his heart racing in his throat. Ace felt lightheaded, but didn’t think Deuce could tell until he stopped his gentle ministrations and squeezed his hand.

“Your pulse is going crazy. Are you okay?” He looked worried, but Ace just felt ashamed.

“Damn, you noticed. I mean yeah I’m fine, just… looking at the… scars… it’s weird.” He reached over to rub at the scars on his right wrist. “Will they… you know, go away eventually?”

“I don’t know,” Deuce admitted. “Maybe. Scars are weird.”

“That’s fair,” Ace agreed, dropping his hands when Deuce reached out to take off the bandages around his chest. “What about the big injury?”

“No more scabbing,” Deuce revealed, pulling the bandages off and returning his hands to Ace’s bare skin to check the scar. “It’s just raw, healing skin now.”

Ace looked down, wincing and lifting a hand to the scar on his chest. It looked horrendous. Raw — like Deuce said — reddened, disfigured skin that had healed over a once bloody and mangled wound. It was beyond ugly in Ace’s opinion, but it was better than the alternative of having a gaping hole stuffed with cloth as his body decomposed in the ground.

He shut his eyes momentarily, rubbing the scar, then smiled at Deuce. “This one itches too.”

“Heat can help,” Deuce offered, and they both winced at the unplanned reminder of the fact Ace no longer had his Devil’s Fruit. “I’m sorry, I meant —”

“I gotta wear a  _ shirt,” _ Ace said with overdramatic misery, then snickered at Deuce’s glare, closing his hand over where Deuce’s palm was pressed to his sternum. “Relax. It’s fine. I know I have to get used to it.”

“It’s okay to take time,” Deuce said, pulling his hand away and turning his attention to the bandages around Ace’s left arm. He unraveled them to reveal the last of the burn scars; blotchy and shiny red marks scattered unevenly along his forearm. “And it’s not a bad thing to be angry.”

“I don’t want to be angry though,” Ace commented, and Deuce gave him a thoughtful look.

He turned away to discard the garbage. “One good thing is that you don’t need bandages anymore,” he said. “So that’s something to be happy about.”

Ace definitely was. Even though the scars were ugly and itched, he didn’t mind them much. Rather, they made him feel proud. Mostly he was proud of Marco and Deuce for their unrelenting care in nursing him back to health. He owed them his very life, and he hoped he could see Marco again soon to show him that he was doing well.

“Neat!” Ace decided, getting to his feet and toeing off his shoes. “If anything, Luffy is going to think the scars are cool! After he calms down about the whole me dying on him thing.”

Deuce snorted, eyes down as he sifted through his supplies. He paid Ace no mind as he finished undressing so he could hop directly into the water. He only reacted when he heard the splash. Deuce dropped everything and scrambled to his feet with a gasp, standing at the edge of the bank to search for his idiot companion.

“Ace?!”

“What?!” Ace froze where he was standing chest deep in the water, gaping back at Deuce in matched alarm.

Deuce looked shocked before a rush of relief made his face sag. He sighed, shoulders falling. “Fuck.” He lifted his hand to his face and barked a laugh. “You fucking… why are you like this?”

Ace was perplexed at his friend’s reaction, wading back towards the bank. The lake was remarkably deep, coming up to his stomach at the shallowest point, so he had to cling to the shelf of rocks hanging over the surface of the water.

“What did I do this time?” He asked, and Deuce dropped the hand from his face, waving at Ace.

“You jumped into the water without a second of hesitation!” He exclaimed. “You could’ve started to sink! Till right now, we didn’t know if you could swim or not!”

Ace looked startled, turning his eyes down and lifting his arms as if that would help him see the bottom of the river where his feet were planted. “You’re right. I’m not sinking.” He beamed. “That means I really  _ can  _ swim again! This is awesome!”

Deuce steepled his fingers over his nose, staring up with a distant look in his eyes. “I need to start meditating,” he said, and Ace hummed, folding his arms up over the rock at Deuce’s feet.

“Meditating? Are you a monk now?”

Deuce lowered his hands to prop them against his hips, staring down at Ace in disapproval. “I should be so lucky.”

“Aren’t you getting in the water?” Ace inquired. “The Red Doc said we weren’t allowed to eat until we washed off.”

“Actually he said  _ you  _ couldn’t eat until  _ you  _ washed off,” Deuce corrected. “You’re the one who came back covered in mud.”

“Shanks made me run through an uncharted part of the forest and I fell into a swamp!” Ace defended. “Wasn’t my fault!”

“This whole island is uncharted, Ace!”

“He knows what he did! He did it on purpose! He was laughing the whole time!”

Deuce rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Just take your time washing the grime off; and don’t forget to clean your hair.”

Ace reached out to grab onto the leg of Deuce’s pants. “Come on, don’t leave me here on my own. What if I forget how to swim?"

"That would be convenient," Deuce muttered. "You'll be fine. I don't need to be here while you're bathing. Your wounds are healed up so I don't need to nag you about irritating them, and they don't need to be bandaged when you're done."

"Sure, and that's all great, but you don't have to leave."

Deuce pursed his lips. "You don't need me here to hold your hand, Ace."

"What, are you embarrassed?" Ace asked with a cheeky grin, and Deuce's face went bright red. "It's not like we've never seen each other naked before."

"That's hardly the point! I'm trying to give you some privacy! I'm trying to be thoughtful!"

Ace curled his arm around Deuce's leg, reaching up with his other hand to latch onto his coat. "Aw come on, just get in the water! We can swim for a little, it's been  _ years _ since I could swim! Celebrate with me!"

"Let go you idiot!" Deuce was hissing, pulling at his coat and trying to lean away from the edge of the rocks. "You're gonna end up dragging me into the water too!"

"So?"

"So I've got important stuff in my pockets! I've got bandages and medicine and —"

"See the easy way to keep all that from getting ruined is to just take your coat off," Ace reasoned. "You don't smell like flowers and ocean breeze either you know! You train as much as I do! You should clean off too!"

Deuce was gritting his teeth, face burning. "I can bathe after you!"

"What's wrong with sharing the lake, huh? I don't mind." Ace tugged on Deuce's leg, but the doctor stayed stationary.

"No thank you!"

"What for? Are you hiding something?" Ace narrowed his eyes. 

It was supposed to be a joke, but Deuce looked flustered. His eyes swept the area in an attempt to not meet Ace's intense gaze, and suddenly Ace thought maybe Deuce  _ was _ hiding something.

"Is it scars?" Ace asked. "You haven't really talked about how you got hurt in the war. Are you hiding scars so I don't worry?"

Deuce met his eye finally, looking sheepish and irritated at the same time. "No, you moron. I'm just not interested in getting naked when we're practically surrounded by people we don't really know. I'd feel too vulnerable."

Ace could sort of understand that, and somehow the idea of one of the Red-Hair pirates seeing Deuce in a compromising position — even if he was just taking a bath — made him feel notably irritated. Not enough to let up on his incessant tugging of course.

"We're the only ones at the lake right now, and I'll protect you if something happens."

Deuce's shoulders sagged with a sigh. "Yes that's very sweet of you, but I'm still not getting in."

"It's not even that cold," Ace tried to coax, managing to drag Deuce a few inches closer. "You really need to relax a little."

"Are you a child?! Stop yanking on my pants! You're gonna make me trip!"

"Well stop whining and get in the water then!"

"You fucking idiot!"

The sound of a soft cough interrupted their argument. Deuce and Ace both turned their heads sharply to the side to look where Benn was standing at the mouth of the forest. He'd probably been asked to inform the duo that dinner was ready, but stopped when he noticed the unusual predicament. 

Ace standing completely naked but gratefully in water that came up to his waist, halfway out of the lake and clinging to Deuce by his pants and coat, attempting to drag the doctor in with him.

Benn was watching them with a blank expression, lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, smoke curling from the end of it. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were going from Ace to Deuce, the latter of which had gone from blush pink to crimson red in the face.

The trio stared at each other silently for a moment before Benn lifted a hand and turned away.

"Pardon the interruption. Take your time."

"No, no, no, this isn't what it looks like!" Deuce squeaked after him, losing the battle against Ace with one final tug that sent him hurtling into the water over Ace's head.

Ace sank down until the water was at his shoulders, bursting out into laughter as Deuce fumbled to recover his footing. He was soaked, hair sticking to his forehead and hissing through his teeth as he glowered at Ace.

“You,” he snarled, but the angry expression he wore only served to heighten Ace’s amusement and loud laughter. Deuce attempted an awkward wading shuffle towards his partner. “I’m sure you’re absolutely  _ delighted  _ by the fact you don’t immediately sink when you get in the water, but you’ll have to wrap up your celebration, because  _ I’m about to drown you.” _

Ace cackled as he half swam half walked backward away from his approaching friend. “Hey at least your clothes are getting washed too!”

“My  _ clothes?!” _

“You’re cute when you look like a drowned rat!” Ace laughed, backpedaling a few more feet until he was near the middle of the lake.

Deuce groaned, shrugging out of his coat as he wobbled over to the rocks. “I can’t believe you actually did that. No, scratch that,” he tossed the coat over the rocks to dry, searching through the pockets and pulling out the soaked contents, “I absolutely  _ can  _ believe it, because this is definitely something you would do.”

“Aw come on, Deu, you’re not really mad are you?” Ace waded back towards Deuce, who mumbled under his breath.

“I’m annoyed, but what’s the use of being mad about something inevitable?”

Ace snorted. “Yeah that’s definitely something absurdly poetic a writer would say.” He paused when the water was at his waist again, reaching over his shoulder to rub at a tight muscle.

It occurred to him as he had a hand on his shoulder that he’d yet to see his back. He already knew that there was no severe scarring, as the burn had healed quickly and without leaving any remnants of the attack. That’s what Deuce had said at least. So Ace hadn’t bothered to look at it.

Standing in the water with a hand on his shoulder, Ace felt the desire to look over his shoulder. So he did, moving his hand down to hold his upper arm — pressing his palm to Sabo’s jolly roger — and looking over his shoulder, looking down at his back where Whitebeard’s mark was. Where it should’ve been. Where it used to be.

Where it no longer was.

Realistically it made sense. Ace shouldn’t have been surprised. Akainu’s fist had gone through Ace’s back, completely destroying the center of Whitebeard’s jolly roger. The skull with the curved mustache was gone. All that was left were the ends of the crossed bones.

Ace felt suddenly lightheaded. His entire body felt more lightweight than it should have, even for being mostly submerged in water. For an instant he forgot he could swim, letting himself go completely under before rising back to his feet. He rubbed his hands over his face, dragging his fingers through his hair as he waded back towards the rocks, where he crossed his arms and buried his face against them.

Deuce didn’t seem to notice Ace’s change at first, beginning to mutter as he set out everything to dry. “I didn’t realize it had ever been in question that I was a write — Ace?” He cut himself off, and Ace curled his fingers into his palms when Deuce set a hand on his back. “Hey, hey, I’m really genuinely not angry, I was just messing with you. I mean you’re annoying but the annoyance is endearing. If I was really annoyed I would’ve left ages ago, but I’m still here aren’t I?”

Ace shook his head, lifting it and burying his face in his hands. “You didn’t tell me,” he said into his fingers. “Pops’ mark is…”

Deuce lifted his hand from Deuce’s back, his voice lowering to a tremor. “Ace I’m — I didn’t know how to… I’m so sorry. At some point I forgot to even mention it. The injuries you had were a lot more important to me than… fuck, this isn’t about me, it’s never been about me, I didn’t mean to imply —”

“Deuce, enough, that’s not what I meant.” Ace reached over to grasp Deuce’s hand, squeezing his fingers. “I know… I get why you didn’t tell me I just… fuck.”

“Ace I’m sorry,” Deuce whispered, returning his hand to Ace’s back. “I know how much that tattoo meant to you.”

“I already knew it was damaged,” Ace admitted, “I just didn’t realize it was… destroyed.”

“Easy, easy,” Deuce soothed him, setting his forehead against Ace’s shoulder. “Look, I’m right here, and I’m going to be here the whole time. Whatever you need, just ask me. Okay?”

“I know. Thank you. I just… there’s still so much… I thought everything was fine now, but everything still hurts.”

_ “Ace, _ you  _ died,” _ Deuce said simply, stroking the back of Ace’s neck with his fingertips. “In terms of trauma levels, yours is overflowing over the edges of the cup. It’s not going to go away in four or five months, but no matter how long it does take, I’m going to be right here. Alright?”

Ace lifted his head, rubbing his eyes and nodding. “I know. You’re always here. I just… need a minute.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Ace said. “No, I… don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay,” Deuce agreed gently, winding an arm around Ace’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “I’ll stay.” He leaned back. “But I’m getting out of the water. Unlike you, Mister Swamp Man, I do not need a bath.”

Ace’s shoulders trembled from the force of his laughter, rolling his head to the side to grin up at his partner. “Sure.”

Deuce hauled himself out of the water then, sitting cross legged on the shelf of rock that Ace was hanging onto. “Also — just to give you options — when I was on the ship, I learned how to tattoo.”

Ace propped his chin into his lifted hand. “When did you learn that? And why?”

“Some of the guys wanted tattoos, and they liked my art.”

“Oh right, you even designed the memorials.”

Deuce shook his head. “I  _ helped  _ design them — but yes. I’m trying to say that if you want, I can redo Pops’ jolly roger on your back.”

Ace played those words over a few times, staring up at Deuce as the corner of his mouth twitched up into a tiny smile. “Yeah?”

“I know how much your tattoos mean to you; both of them.” Deuce looked beyond serious. “If you trust my hand enough to jab you with a needle like that, then I’m more than willing to repair the tattoo on your back.”

Ace nodded, shifting his gaze to stare down as he considered his options. After a moment he looked back up at Deuce. “What if I asked you to give me a different tattoo?”

“Different?” Deuce looked taken aback, furrowing his brow. “You don’t want me to redo Pops’ mark?”

Ace dropped his hand, folding both his arms over the rocks. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to honor him and I want to honor the time in my life where I was a Division Commander, but I’m also smart enough to know that I can’t go back to it. I’m not a Whitebeard pirate anymore.” He considered his next words before looking up at Deuce. “I trust your hand and your art, so if I give you a basic idea, can you give me a new back tattoo?”

Deuce looked anxious, but genuinely touched. He sighed, reaching out to tug on Ace’s bangs. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he said, “but a whole back piece is going to take time.”

“That’s fine,” Ace smiled, “we’ve got nothing  _ but  _ time.”


	7. Post Marineford — Part 7: Ace

If it weren’t for the intense training regiment, being on an island with Deuce would have felt almost like a vacation. The early mornings were probably some of Ace’s favorite times. His internal temperature was no longer as hot as it had been with the _Mera Mera no Mi,_ so in the cold dawn hours, Ace would squirm closer to Deuce to steal his heat instead.

Deuce, of course, never seemed to mind much. He would turn towards Ace and curl around him so they were huddling under the same blankets and sharing the same pillow. They would lay together in complete silence, whether they were still sleeping or already awake. Ace especially enjoyed it when Deuce would massage his scars. With his hands held between their chests, Deuce would take them in his own and circle his thumbs against the scars there.

It was an intimacy and trust that Ace never knew he’d be able to offer or receive. Most of the time he found himself pressing his face against Deuce’s chest as the other man offered his healing touch to every inch of scarred skin. A touch that spoke sonnets with every caress, volumes that screamed _“you are not your scars”_ without uttering a single vocal word.

Ace didn’t think it would’ve been possible for Deuce to become even more important to him than he already had been, but in the handful of months they’d spent exclusively with one another, that had been proven hysterically incorrect. Ace didn’t know what he would do without Deuce anymore.

Their relationship had elevated from friendship born from meeting in imperfect circumstances, to something far more precious thanks to a moment of shared trauma. They were able to find mutual solace in one another, and through the journey towards healing, they found themselves growing impossibly closer.

Sometimes it seemed as if Deuce had the other half of Ace’s soul. He was so in tune and hyper aware of everything Ace thought and felt — Shanks said it was due to his inexplicably powerful Observation Haki — that sometimes it seemed as if he knew Ace before Ace knew himself; but honestly Ace couldn’t ask for anything better.

He just wished he was at least a fraction as in tune with Deuce’s thoughts as the healer was with Ace’s. The former Division Commander didn’t think he was doing nearly enough for his partner. The balance of comfort and support they both offered felt uneven, and when he was alone training with Shanks, normally during food breaks when they were quiet, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering to something deprecating and ashamed.

Generally speaking, Deuce was an emotional and very passionate person. Maybe because he was a writer, or maybe because he was a doctor. He felt everything so deeply and loudly that sometimes it overwhelmed him and burned him out. Deuce’s level of empathy was beyond what Ace could guess — he just cared so much about everyone — but he subdued that care with an indifferent attitude.

An attempt at protecting himself most likely, because when he was younger that beautiful heart of his was often taken advantage of by the people who should’ve encouraged it.

Everything was heightened and intensified for Deuce, but his anxiety was a toxin in his veins that made caring for people an exhaustive task. Even so, he put every ounce of energy into taking care of Ace, both in terms of physical ailments as well as the occasional mental strain that came from the trauma of surviving a war (or not so much).

The issue came about when Ace tried to take care of Deuce, because Deuce clammed up when the idea of acknowledging his own problems were brought into the limelight. Ace knew Deuce well enough to know that the healer just didn’t want to worry him, but it bothered Ace to the point of distraction, which was dangerous — especially when he was training. He really would’ve liked it if Deuce cared about himself as much as he cared about Ace.

(And Ace was fully aware of the hypocritical note to that thought, so he didn’t even _want_ to vocalize his concerns in front of Shanks.)

“I gotta try harder,” Ace murmured absently to himself as he followed behind Shanks.

The duo was hiking up a worn path on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a beach to the far left of the island a few miles from the campsite. Shanks threw a look over his shoulder back towards Ace, a curious light in his eyes.

“Harder? You’ve been doing remarkably well so far. I’m actually surprised at how far you’ve come in your training in just a few months.”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant,” Ace sighed, kicking at a small rock in his path. “I’m worried about Deuce. I’ve gotta try harder to be someone he can trust with his issues, because he’s clearly holding stuff in. I mean he hasn’t even talked about the war or what he went through yet. You know I don’t even know how badly he was injured? I know he was because he was bandaged up when I woke up on the ship, but… I’m just worried.”

“Ah, I see. I can understand that.”

“It’s a million times worse because I can _feel_ when he’s hurting or stressed out. I can _feel_ when something is wrong that he needs to talk about, but he just won’t. Even when I ask, he gives me this fucking smile and says he’s fine. Even though I know he’s not!” Ace waved his hands in front of him. “Does he think I’m an idiot or something?!”

“I think it’s more to the fact he simply doesn’t want to worsen your own mental state.”

“I’m fine, though!” Ace insisted, kicking another rock off the path. “Fuck! I confide in him every time I think I need to, and even when I don’t want to he seems to know, so he always knows what to do to make me feel better! Why won’t he let me do that too?”

“Benn does that sometimes.” Shanks paused in the path so he could turn to Ace. “Normally when I’m stressed, or he thinks I’m stressed. I figure it’s a first mate thing. As my closest confidant, Benn tends to take on my stress as well as his own, but he doesn’t confide in me unless I make him because he doesn’t think he can, or doesn’t think he should. It’s all about knowing the best time to pry. You both have incredibly powerful Observation Haki in addition to being close friends and partners. If you communicate correctly, you two will be perfectly balanced at every turn, but you _do_ have to communicate.”

“He’s the one who’s being a baby about it,” Ace grumbled, crouching down and picking up a few small rocks to roll around in his hand. “It makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

“You’re not,” Shanks insisted. “The way I see it, the both of you care an enormous amount. There’s just the tiniest impression of disconnect between your push and pull. You trust each other more than anyone else, but at the same time you’re obsessed with trying to protect each other from any more misery than you’ve already endured. That’s sweet, but it can also be your biggest problem as partners. There’s a time to push and pull, and a time to let things slide. You need to figure out when to let things slide.”

Ace stayed crouched where he was, frowning down at the rocks in his hands. “What do you think I should do in this situation?” He asked. “If he’s hurting this much… I don’t want to push too hard but I want him to confide in me. I want to help him. I owe him so much.”

“In this situation…” Shanks trailed off and paused in a clear sign that he was genuinely considering the question and the best advice he could give. “Be present,” he said, “be stable and be open. The biggest thing, do not ignore your own stress in favor of obsessing over his. When you know you can be upset about your own problems while also offering comfort to someone else, it’ll become easier. Sometimes it’s enough to just be around someone you trust without the expectation of having to explain why you’re in a bad mood.”

“Yeah,” Ace hummed, standing back up and dropping all but one stone. “Gotta admit, that’s sound reasoning.” He tossed the stone up in the air before catching it a few times. “I sounded smart just then, right?”

The Yonko shrugged his shoulders and Ace turned, rearing his arm back with the intention of throwing the rock down towards the beach. He paused before he could throw it, lowering his arm and stepping up to the edge of the path.

“Speaking of our first mate’s,” he noted, dropping the rock and pointing. “I guess this is where they come for training.”

“Oh yeah, look at that.”

Deuce was down on the beach at the edge of the water with Benn, Yasopp, and Lucky Roux. They were far enough away that Ace couldn’t hear what they were saying, but knowing how strong Deuce’s Haki was, the healer could probably feel Ace was nearby. It was a bit irritating because Ace couldn’t sneak closer to eavesdrop like he wanted to without being noticed. So he crouched down again, arms hanging over his lifted knees and a frown painting his lips.

“I wonder what they’re talking about,” he muttered, folding his hands in front of his face and burying his mouth against the backs of his fingers.

He couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from Deuce. The medic had shrugged out of his coat and was currently shirtless, his hair pulled back and tied to keep it out of his eyes. Ace never saw Deuce with his hair up unless he was in surgery, and though he didn’t wear a shirt unless it was particularly cold out, he always had his coat on at the very least. Deuce looked so different like this. He was holding the tantō gifted to him by Izou in his right hand, his left held up to rub something from his chin — probably sweat. Even from a distance, Ace could see it glistening on Deuce’s skin, giving off the impression that he was practically _glowing_ in the sun.

It was almost overwhelming, but Ace couldn’t look away.

“He was never much of a fighter,” Ace noted suddenly. “Deuce I mean. He definitely knew how to hold his own in a fist fight, but petty childish brawls are different from pirate fights. Every time the ship got raided, part of me worried sick that something would happen to him. I mean I trust him, but he was noble born and lived in a pretty strict household. It wasn’t like he got in fights every day like Luffy and I. Violence was second nature to me, but Deuce… you get what I’m saying?”

“I understand.”

“I mean I’m surprised he’s bothering to train with a short sword at all. He doesn’t need to. If I had any say in it, he wouldn’t have to get involved in the fights at all.”

“Well that’s certainly selfish of you,” Shanks deadpanned. “Remember what I said about letting things slide? Do you really think he’d be happy with letting you do all the work? With letting himself be protected without being allowed to give something back? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ace groaned, dropping his head. “Stop being right. It’s annoying.”

“You’re the one obsessing over it. It’s admirable, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ace agreed, looking up to watch Deuce. “It’s… a lot. The fact he’s trying so hard. He’s pushing himself and becoming the best he can be, because he wants to help me, and that’s a lot to really comprehend.”

“You can’t really be surprised, can you?” Ace could hear the smile in his mentor’s voice. “He tells you he loves you every morning before training. Of course he’d go this far to stay by your side.”

Ace snorted, lifting his hands and dragging his fingers back through his hair. “I’m really proud of him,” he admitted, “seeing him improve this much; and I’m in shock because he’s improved this much for my sake.” He paused in thought, his heart seizing in his chest almost painfully when Deuce smiled and laughed at something Benn said. His mouth opened and he spoke before giving the words a second thought. “I love him too.”

Shanks didn’t give him the time to be embarrassed as he started to walk again. “Then you should tell him so. Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

Ace scrambled to his feet, casting Deuce one last prolonged look before running after Shanks.

He planned to have a discussion with Deuce that night, to try and find common ground for a legitimate conversation about what was bothering his friend. Unfortunately, something completely unexpected happened in the middle of supper. While Ace sat around the fire with the usual group, Rockstar scrambled up to them, holding a sleeping transponder snail in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

“Boss, we got a problem,” he said frantically. “Like a big one.”

Shanks lowered his fork, eyeing his crewmate with a steady look. “Go on.”

“A rookie crew’s been going at one of the islands in our territory,” Rockstar explained, handing the paper to Benn. “There’s been articles at least once a week talking about one of the rookies causing some sort of fight, but this is the first time someone’s come after y _our_ territory. I called a friend we have on that island and he said it was worse than what the papers say. The Kid Pirates are causing pandemonium and going after innocent civilians. They’re bringing violence to the island and hurting people and I’m really pissed off!”

“You’re alright, calm down,” Shanks soothed, setting aside his plate and leaning closer to Benn to see the newspaper. “They’re asking for help of course?”

“Yes. I mean we have to help, don’t we?!” Rockstar had his hands in fists at his sides. “They’re not just insulting you by attacking friends, it’s like they targeted your territory on purpose!”

“Eustass _Captain_ Kid is calling you out,” Benn guessed, turning the page. “As a rookie your options are limited to integrating into one of the fleets of the four emperors, or trying to take one down and carve out your own territory. Seems his intentions are very clear.”

Shanks smiled at Ace. “Hey, you tried to do that too!”

Ace glared at him. “Thanks, I needed that embarrassing memory.”

“What do you want to do?” Yasopp asked, the usual humor gone from his face — he looked as pissed off as Rockstar.

“If they were just hopping from island to island peacefully then I wouldn’t mind much, but they’re physically attacking civilians on their way,” Shanks said in an unnervingly calm voice, standing up from his seat and picking his saber into his hand. “That’s not something I can ignore.”

Benn closed the newspaper and set it aside, digging out a fresh cigarette to light as he stood up with Shanks. “Rockstar, go let the crew know we’re going to be making an emergency trip to deal with an overambitious rookie. Get the ship ready.”

Rockstar gave a flailing salute. “I’m on it.”

“We’re leaving?” Ace asked as Rockstar ran off.

Shanks secured his sword in the sash around his waist, giving Ace a stern look. “We are. You two are staying here.”

“Huh?” Ace gaped at him. “What —”

“You’re still in the middle of your training,” Shanks interrupted. “It’s only been about ten months since Marineford, but you’ve improved enormously in both your Haki capabilities and your swordplay. Your swordsmanship is what’s been impressing me the most, especially considering you’d never used them before, but you still need to work on your Haki; and that’s not even the biggest point you need to remember.”

“I can help,” Ace insisted as he stood, picking up his own sword and standing in front of Shanks. “You just said so that I’ve improved —”

“The only people who know you survived Marineford are the people on this island, Marco, Izou, and Vista,” Shanks interrupted once more. “How do you think the world will react if they see you on my ship fighting my enemies?”

Ace felt his blood run cold. For a fraction of a moment a phantom weight circled both his wrists, and images of Impel Down flashed in front of his eyes. The memories came and went as quickly as he blinked, blocking out Shanks for an instant before the red haired man’s presence returned. He was right — again — of course. If Ace was seen alive before he was ready to reenter the Grand Line, then he was going to become one of the most hunted pirates on the seas, and even Shanks wouldn’t be able to protect him.

He swallowed around the lump that had hardened in his throat, reaching over to scratch at the scars on his wrist and nodding. “Okay,” he agreed quickly with no additional arguments. “You’re right. So what do you want us to do? Just stay here and wait for you to get back?”

“Yes,” Shanks responded simply, and Ace craned his neck back to stare at the sky. “I expect you to continue your training without me. Focus on work outs and concentration exercises to sharpen your Haki skills. I expect to see more improvement by the time we return.”

“We’ll leave a few crates of supplies here that you may need,” Benn announced, and Ace nodded.

“We can get food and water from the island, so…”

“Oh we’re sure you probably won’t starve,” Yasopp reassured, and Deuce lifted his head to glance at him.

“Always so confident,” he said, and Yasopp laughed.

“You’ll be alright without us,” Shanks said, reaching out to set his hand on Ace’s shoulder, offering a firm squeeze.

“Yeah,” Ace secured his sword on his belt so he had both hands free, tucking them behind his back in a faux stature of politeness to hide the fact he was scraping his nails over the scars on his wrists.

They were terribly dry and itchy, the old wounds throbbing and tight, but scratching them was doing more harm than good. Ace knew that — Deuce had scolded him a number of times about alternate and more helpful alternatives — but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Even when it started to hurt.

He felt like he was having an out of body experience as he watched the Red-Hair crew scramble to break down their camp and bring everything back to the ship. It was late, the sun was setting in the distance, and Benn was exchanging a final word with Deuce that Ace couldn’t hear. He remained seated at the campfire as the crew slowly filtered off of the island, until the only people left were the captains and vice captains. Yasopp, Roux and Rockstar were waiting in the last row boat while Shanks and Benn finished talking to their individual students.

Ace could imagine Benn giving Deuce a large handful of helpful advice, but Shanks was a little less elegant with his words as he stood with Ace.

“Remember what I said about you and the doc,” Shanks said with a smile. “Oh, and remember what _you_ said as well.”

Ace could only stare. “What did I say?”

“Oh, you already forgot.”

“So remind me?”

 _“Talk_ to him, Ace,” Shanks stated firmly. “I’ve been watching you for ten months, I know how important he is to you, and I know how important you are to him. Get it? So _talk_ to him.”

“Alright,” Ace agreed.

He’d already planned to talk to Deuce after all. Actually, maybe this situation could play to his advantage, because it would be a lot easier to discuss everything with Deuce without a bunch of other people around to possibly overhear the sensitive topic.

Ace followed Shanks to the water’s edge where Deuce was standing. He propped his elbow up against Deuce’s shoulder as they watched Shanks and Benn step into the row boat. Shanks stayed standing as they pushed away from the shore, holding his arm up to wave at the duo still on the island. Benn was holding his cigarette with one hand, his other clinging to Shanks’ cloak to keep him from toppling into the water.

“Don’t miss us too much, boys! We’ll see you in a few weeks!”

Deuce and Ace waved at the boat as the five older pirates rowed out to the _Red Force._ By the time the ship was merely a dot on the horizon, bright streaks of red and purple were painted across the sky, and the sun was half gone.

“Just like Sixis, right?” Ace asked, and Deuce snorted.

“I was thinking the same thing actually.”

“What did Benn say to you?”

“Training schedule,” Deuce answered, turning away from the sea to hike back towards the campfire. “Speaking of, for the time being can you stay a little closer to the camp? I can feel where you are usually, but I don’t want you too far away in case something happens.”

Ace dragged his feet with a quiet sigh, following behind his partner. “Yeah, I don’t mind. I want to be close in case you need me anyway.”

“It’s a lot quieter without the crew here,” Deuce noted as he sat back down.

Ace sat down beside him. “I could sing if you want.”

“You? Sing?” Deuce laughed, and Ace pouted.

“Would you prefer I scream or slam pots together?”

“Ace there’s nothing wrong with sitting in silence,” Deuce laughed, sliding off the log so he was sitting in the sand, stretching his legs out and pulling his journal from his coat.

Ace watched him for a moment as he scribbled notes down before deciding to join him on the ground. “You seem pretty calm right now,” he said, and Deuce hummed.

“I think I’m just tired. It was a pretty long day.”

“That makes sense.”

Deuce paused in whatever he was writing, looking over at Ace. “Can I see your hands?”

Ace blinked. “My hands?”

“I know you wanted to go with them.” Deuce tucked his pencil in his journal and closed it. “You wanted to help Red-Hair, you wanted to repay all he’s done for you — for both of us and for your kid brother. So you were anxious and ashamed that he wouldn’t let you; but you know he’s just looking out for you, for your sake and Luffy’s. You’ll get a chance to repay him, you just need to be patient and focus on what you can do now.” He smiled softly at Ace — it sent something sharp through his heart that nearly made him wince. “I can’t blame you, it was hot today so your scars are probably irritated.”

Ace felt his heart fall down into his stomach, burrowing his hands into the cool sand around him to hide the red stripes he’d scratched into his skin. “You saw that,” he grumbled. “Why do you see practically everything?”

“I don’t see everything,” Deuce argued, pulling his knees up to fold his arms over them and hands clasping together. “Just the important things. I wouldn’t bring it up at all if it wasn’t important.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Ace sighed, pulling his hands back out and shaking them, wiping the rest of the sand off against his pants.

“Do you need anything?” Deuce asked, and the care in his voice went right through Ace’s chest. This time he did cringe. “Only if you want. I can treat the scratches and bandage them.”

“I didn’t break the skin,” Ace promised. He shifted around to face Deuce, sitting cross legged with his hands on his knees. “Listen, we need to talk. Not as your captain but as your friend. I’m worried about you, okay? I can feel when you’re stressing out, I can feel when you’re upset about something, and I know you’re trying to take care of me and keep me calm, but you can’t keep sacrificing your own health for me.”

Deuce offered a dozen different expressions as Ace talked, going from confused, to startled, to ashamed, until his cheeks were burning red and he was looking away, trying to hide his face in his arms out of sheer embarrassment.

“I suppose you notice the important things too, huh?”

“It’s not Haki,” Ace said, “it’s just me caring about you.”

Deuce lifted his head but kept one hand over his face. “Benn told me I had to work on that,” he admitted. “I just…”

“You just don’t want to worry me because of everything I’ve already been through.” Deuce nodded. Ace shifted around again, throwing a few logs into the fire to keep it burning before slipping closer to Deuce, sitting shoulder to shoulder and winding an arm around him. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I want you to know that I want to listen when you do feel you’re ready to talk. You’re not just the first mate from my crew, you’re my closest friend and my partner. I want to take care of you too. I deserve that, don’t I? I know you’re here for me, but I want you to know I’ll be here for you too.” He turned his head to press a kiss into Deuce’s hair, tightening his grip and pulling the other man closer so Deuce was lying his head against Ace’s shoulder.

Deuce was covering his face with both hands like he was trying to hide from Ace. Ace wasn’t surprised at all, he’d been expecting that reaction, but Deuce eventually pulled his hands away with a sigh and curled more against Ace’s side.

“I get it,” he said finally, “and I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Nah,” Ace leaned back against the log with Deuce against his side. “I worry you too, so this is revenge against me. I deserve it.” He shut his eyes, using Deuce’s head as a pillow. “You do seem calm right now though, so you don’t have to say anything tonight. Like you said, it’s nice to just sit in silence sometimes.”

“Oh you’re actually listening to me and agreeing with me?”

“First of all, I always listen to you. I may not agree, but at least I listen.”

“I know you _think_ that’s true, but it’s decidedly not.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“A very diplomatic way to avoid my nagging.”

“Thank you, it’s taken years of practice.” Deuce reached out to pinch Ace’s thigh, twisting his fingers until Ace jumped and hissed. “Owe!”

Deuce tried to hide his laughter, but ended up giggling vocally against Ace’s collar.

“You’re not even _trying_ to act apologetic for that!” Ace said, yanking on a lock of Deuce’s hair.

“Oh you’ve been through worse,” Deuce snorted. “All those times Pops threw you into the ocean. Fighting Jimbei for five days straight like an idiot. Me pinching you isn’t gonna do any harm.”

Ace grumbled. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Deuce hummed but didn’t reply.

Over the following week, Deuce and Ace both spent their days training and talking. Ace was beyond happy that his partner was actually putting out the effort to bring it up when he was upset. Being trusted with words had a different sort of edge than being trusted with everything else, because he already knew Deuce trusted him with everything else. Being able to talk through problems and communicate made him feel so much more worthy, and actually made it easier to simply exist.

And there was something so intimately soft about simply existing with another person.

Every day Ace felt happier that he hadn’t died. Or rather, he was happy Marco had been able to bring him back after the fact. As it had given him so much more time with Deuce.

Naturally the more Ace thought about it, the more he thought about Marco, and the more he wanted to see him again. He wanted to thank Marco properly, because he didn’t get the chance to do so before. There was really no way to express how grateful Ace was, no way to repay Marco for what he’d done. Ace just wanted to see him again.

Of course he didn’t think he’d get the chance to so soon.

“That’s all I can do on that today,” Deuce was saying from behind Ace, wiping his hands on a rag. “Your pain tolerance still blows me away sometimes.”

Ace looked over his shoulder, grinning at Deuce and tapping his chest. “Compared to how I got this scar, getting a tattoo is hardly painful at all. It’s pretty comfortable actually.” Deuce snorted as Ace carefully pulled on his shirt — a red short sleeved button up that he only buttoned up enough to hide the scar. “How does it look by the way?”

“I could do a lot more on it,” Deuce answered as he stood up to put away all the supplies he’d used, “but I’ve finished all the lines and some of the color.”

“Go crazy.”

“You say that every time,” Deuce commented, and Ace shrugged.

“Well I mean it.” He was securing the last button on his shirt when he noticed Deuce had frozen in place. He lifted his head to glance at where the doctor was standing, staring towards the water’s edge.

His eyes had tinged red from Haki and his brow was furrowed in concentration. In the time they’d spent alone together, Ace had really started to notice just how powerful his companion’s Observation Haki was. Almost to the point of being an envious talent compared to Ace’s own. Of course Ace’s Armament Haki was very powerful, he was slowly getting a handle on his Conquerors Haki, and his Observation Haki was notable, but it was nowhere near Deuce’s level.

Ace was proud of him, but it was also a constant reminder of how much pain Deuce went through during the war.

“Someone’s here?” Ace asked, and Deuce nodded.

“It’s not Red-Hair,” he confessed, glancing at Ace for an instant before looking back at the water. “It’s familiar though.”

Ace reached over to where his sword was propped against his seat. “A threat?”

“No, relax a little.” Deuce brightened up, the corners of his lips twitching. “Oh holy shit.”

“You know who it is?”

Deuce grinned at Ace. “We got a few visitors,” he said, turning and putting all the tattoo supplies in a crate before closing it. “I didn’t think we’d see them so soon, I’m surprised.”

“Who?” Ace asked, but he got his answer in the next moment when he heard voices coming towards them.

“They must’ve docked further down the coastline,” Deuce hummed, putting a coffee pot in the fire to warm up some water, a smile on his face.

Ace stood up when the three figures came into view, a grin breaking out over his face immediately as he recognized them. “Marco?!”

The first division commander was striding towards the campfire with Izou and Vista on either side of him. They all looked excited to see Ace, though the joy curved to shock when their eyes fully settled on their younger companion. Ace only worried about their confusion for an instant as he dropped his sword back down and jogged towards the trio, throwing himself at Marco for a tight hug he’d been dying to give.

He tossed his arms around the other man’s neck, squeezing him and laughing. “I was just thinking about you guys! I missed you!”

Marco patted Ace’s back with one hand. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Almost a year!” Ace said, stepping away from the embrace to look at his three friends. His smile quickly faded and he physically felt the color drain from his face when he got a good look at them. “What the hell happened to you guys?”

Izou lifted a hand to touch the bandages wrapped tightly around his head and covering his right eye, turning his head to share an uneasy look with Vista. Ace noticed with growing unease that even the swordsman was patched up, his right arm in a sling and gauze taped to his cheek and the side of his neck. Marco slid his thumb over the bandages wound around his knuckles before touching the gauze that was wrapped up his right arm and reached his elbow.

“It’s… a long story,” Marco admitted, glancing around. “What happened to Red-Hair?”

“He left about a week ago,” Deuce answered, coming up behind Ace to join them. He looked as alarmed and concerned as Ace felt. “The Kid Pirates were causing some problems in their territory, so they left to take care of the situation. Why are you three injured? Do you need medical attention?”

Marco’s eyes were on the ground, but he eventually looked up to meet Ace’s questioning stare. “We should talk,” he said.

Ace tensed, hands curling into fists. “Yeah… yeah.”

It was dark by the time Marco, Vista and Izou had finished their long winded explanation. Ace was grateful they didn’t sugar coat or shorten the story, because he needed to hear everything — every tiny detail — but that didn’t mean he enjoyed any part of it. The fire was burning in the pit they were sitting around, casting shadows over everyone’s exhausted features and making them appear years older than they actually were.

Ace was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands raised and folded tightly together in front of his mouth to hide the heavy grimace on his lips. He felt too ashamed to meet the eyes of his three friends as they offered their play by play of the Whitebeard Pirate’s final fight — what people were calling the Grudge War.

“After the fight with Blackbeard, we officially disbanded,” Marco was finishing up. “It’ll probably be in the papers soon, but we wanted to come find you and tell you face to face what happened. You deserve that much.”

Ace ducked his head to press his forehead against his folded hands, staring at the tiny mounds of sand between his boots. He didn’t know how to respond. He felt cold and weightless, as if this was just a nightmare he would wake up from in a few moments. The only warmth he could feel was from where his thigh was pressing against Deuce’s.

Deuce had one hand on Ace’s shoulder, speaking warily after Marco had been quiet for a few moments. “How many people did we lose in the fight?”

“Enough,” Vista answered gravely. “Teech didn’t seem very blinded by the fact he was slaughtering people he’d known for the majority of his life.”

“Not to mention his crew have no connection to us at all,” Izou added. “They’re all former Impel Down prisoners. Some of the worst, most violent and murderous criminals in history.”

“I should’ve been there,” Ace hissed through his teeth.

“We figured you’d say that,” Marco admitted. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you what we were planning, but the crew was adamant about going after Blackbeard as soon as possible, and we didn’t want to risk you —”

 _“Stop_ saying that! People need to _stop_ saying that!” Ace snapped, dropping his hands away from his face to snarl at Marco. “I get it already! People can’t know I’m alive yet! I’m not strong enough yet! People don’t need to keep _reminding_ me!”

Marco looked sick, lowering his eyes to the fire separating them. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Ace dropped his head again with a sigh, covering his eyes with a hand. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for everything.”

“We’re happy you guys are okay,” Deuce offered. “Though your injuries…”

“Ah we’ll be fine,” Vista assured with a wave of his hand. “What’s a few more scars?”

“What are you planning to do now?” Ace asked.

Marco was scratching at the bandages on his arm before straightening them. “I'm going back to pops’ home island. There are some… problems there, so I want to help. I’ll stay there as long as necessary.”

“I might go home, too,” Vista said, rolling the curled end of his mustache between his fingers in thought. “Or maybe I’ll go seek out Hawk-Eye for another fight. Our last duel was pretty exhilarating, but we had to cut it short since we were at Marineford. I’d like to finish our match.”

Ace looked at Izou, who was sitting stiffly with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his kimono, staring into the fire. “What about you? Are you planning on going home?”

Izou was silent for a moment, his lips twisting into a deeper frown. “I can’t yet,” he said, finally raising his eyes to look at Ace. “I want to, it’s been a long time since I’ve been in Wano and I miss… there are people I miss.” He dropped his gaze back to the fire. “But I have unfinished business to attend to. I can’t go home until the time is right.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Ace comforted. “It’s been a while since I was in Wano too… I’d like to go back sometime.” He smiled thoughtfully. “I made a promise to someone there, and they’re probably still waiting for me.”

“How old would she be now?” Deuce asked with a hum. “Eight?”

“Probably around nine actually,” Ace chuckled.

Izou was watching him curiously but said nothing to further the conversation regarding his home country. “I’ll know when it’s time,” he said, “but for now I want to find somewhere I can continue my training.”

“Training? You?” Ace snorted. “You’ve gotta be joking. What training do _you_ need?”

“Trust me, I still need a lot,” Izou said grimly. “My skills have a long way to go before they’re good enough. I want to be somewhere I can hone them properly.”

“Where’s that?” Deuce asked. “Sniper Island?”

“What?”

Deuce coughed and looked away. “Nothing, never mind. It’s just this dumb story Yasopp tells. I was making a joke.”

“So do you have an idea?” Ace asked.

Izou pulled his arms closer to his chest, appearing noticeably tense. “Over the years that I was a part of Pops’ crew, I witnessed enormous imbalances in power. What people view as justice and righteousness on the seas, and the people who suffer because of it.” His jaw was locked as if he was grinding his teeth. “I believe my time and talent would be best used to help people, at least until I’m called back home.”

“That’s admirable,” Deuce commented. “Definitely something I would expect from you.”

“So you’re going to become a vigilante?” Ace guessed, accepting a cup of warm tea from Deuce — he didn’t like coffee so opted for the alternative. He used to be able to chug drinks when they were still near scalding, but after burning his tongue a few months ago (he couldn’t taste his food for a week) he’d learned to blow on the tea to cool it before drinking.

Izou met his eye. “Of a sort I suppose,” he said, and seemed to purposely wait for Ace to take a sip of his tea before explaining further. “My intention is to hunt down the Revolutionary Army and join their cause.”

Ace spat out half of his tea and choked on the other half, lifting a hand to his mouth as he coughed. “You wanna do _what?!”_ Izou seemed startled at Ace’s response, watching silently as the younger man continued to cough himself hoarse. “Izou do you know who those people are?!”

Izou shrugged, eyes making an arch just short of rolling them. “I know enough. They’re a secretive organization; no one alive knows how vast their numbers are, but theory alone thinks they have members all over the four seas as well as the Grand Line. They’re the only ones brave enough — stupid enough — to go against the World Government and the Celestial Dragons head on. They don’t bother themselves with treasure or adventure like pirates, and they don’t boast justice like the navy. They take on the weight of the world and throw themselves into the ugliest corners of our society, putting their bodies and minds on the line simply because they crave freedom for all, and are willing to go to whatever means necessary to achieve it.”

Ace raised a hand to stop Izou. “That’s cute, very sweet, but you forgot to mention the part where they’re terrorists lead by a — a — some self proclaimed hero who thinks he’s got a right to do these things, and — well, just think about it! Do you ever hear anything good about the Revolutionary Army?!”

“We don’t hear _anything_ about the Revolutionary Army,” Vista said. “The World Government runs the papers you know, they don’t want to fund any article that talks about a group of violent so-called terrorists who aren’t afraid of them and are constantly getting the better of them.”

Izou waved a finger at Vista. “That’s a fair point. Everything we do know about the Revolutionary Army is hearsay, gossip and rumors. The government would never allow a positive article to be published regarding the army. Hell, if they had their way, no one would even know the Revolutionary Army _existed.”_

“Most people probably don’t even believe the rumors,” Marco said. “It wasn’t until very recently that the actual identity of their Leader was uncovered.”

“Is that why you don’t like the army?” Izou asked. “Because their leader is your younger brother’s father?”

Ace snarled, lifting his tea and hiding the ugly expression in his cup. “You expect me to have any positive opinions on an absentee father who abandoned his only son with _his_ lunatic father, who abandoned him the same way with a group of mountain bandits?” He lowered his cup. “Do you have any idea what kind of reckless idiot Luffy is? You saw him at Marineford. He was a hundred times worse when we were kids! Plus he didn’t like mountain bandits, okay? Mountain bandits tried to kill him when he was seven, and a few months later his grandfather, the only family he had who was almost never around to care for him, dragged him up a hostile mountain and abandoned him with people who were practically the same as the group who tried to murder him!” His cup cracked in his hand as he sat there seething.

“Before I met him he was alone the large majority of the time. He was a _kid,_ he was _seven,_ he was fucking lonely and confused because the old man was always gone working! He thought he had no family aside from his grandfather, but it turns out his father is not only alive, he’s playing hero for the rest of the world! He cared more about how fucked up strangers he doesn’t know are than his only son! So no, I don’t like them! And I certainly don’t like their fucking leader!”

The cracked cup shattered in his grip, but he paid no mind to the burn of the hot tea or the sharp sting from the broken shards stabbing into his palm.

Izou looked grim. “I understand, and I’m sorry… but this is my choice to make. I can sympathize with your opinion, and I’m not saying it’s wrong, but I personally know so little about Monkey D Dragon or the Revolutionary Army, so I’m not prepared to share the opinion — but I won’t disagree with it either.”

Ace shook his hand out, still scowling. “If that’s what you want to do, then fine, don’t let me stop you.”

Izou bowed his head, lips pressed into a tight line. “I do hope my decision doesn’t put a strain on our friendship.”

Ace sighed. “I’ve known you for ages, of _course_ it doesn’t change anything.” He gave Izou a nervous look. “I just hope you really know what you’re doing.”

Izou’s expression grew heavier. “As do I.”

“Just for the record, and to change the subject, you’re looking good,” Marco stated. “You look healthy and a lot stronger. The shirt’s new.”

Ace snorted into a laugh, letting Deuce take his wrist and drag his hand over to pry out the shards of porcelain. “A necessary change I’m not entirely pleased with, but it’s better than suffering the cold. It’s been a long time since I’ve been cold. Not a fan.”

“I wouldn’t imagine so,” Marco sympathized. “I’m also liking the sword.”

Ace reached over to grip the hilt of his saber, propping it up with a hum. “Without my Devil’s Fruit ability I needed an alternative way to fight, so Shanks has been teaching me sword fighting and Haki.”

“It suits you,” Izou stated. “The sword, and the shirt. You look… different like this.”

“Yeah,” Vista agreed. “For a minute when we saw you running at us we didn’t even recognize you! For one thing you look a lot older!”

“It’s the shirt,” Marco was grinning. “Makes you look more mature.”

“The compliments now sound like teasing,” Ace deadpanned, and his three friends dissolved into laughter. The cheerful noise had Ace grinning in return, beginning to laugh with his fellow former division commanders.

It must have been past midnight. Ace was sitting in the sand with Deuce asleep beside him, using his shoulder as a pillow while Ace stared at the fresh bandages wound around his hand and fingers. Vista was snoring away curled up against a crate, an empty cup in one hand. Izou had fashioned a pillow out of a straw mat and was sleeping next to where Marco was still sitting on the log they’d all been seated on hours earlier.

The first and second division commanders were the only ones left awake, staring at bandaged palms or into cups of coffee. The campfire still burned between them, offering some warmth on the otherwise chilly beach.

“I did hope I’d get a chance to thank you,” Ace said into the silence. “Properly I mean.”

Marco lifted his eyes from his cup, humming. “You already thanked me.”

“No I didn’t,” Ace snorted. “I never got the chance to because everything was so chaotic. I never even got the chance to say goodbye to you before leaving with Shanks.”

“You can say goodbye now,” Marco joked, and Ace shook his head.

“I don’t want to say goodbye to anyone.” He met Marco’s eye. “That’s why it’s so important that I say thank you. Even if it was a one time miracle that may never happen again, you brought me back to life. You gave me a second chance where I took advantage of my first. I didn't appreciate my life nearly enough because I was so bitter and resentful… but I’m not anymore. I don’t want to be.” He looked down at the bandages again, sliding the thumb of the opposite hand across his palm. “I still have a long way to go, I won't lie… but I want to prove that me being alive, you saving me, wasn’t a mistake.” He curled his hand into a fist, pressing his thumb into the scars around his wrist. “I want to show you how much I appreciate this.”

“You don’t have to try so hard,” Marco said. “You don’t owe me anything, Ace. I’m just happy I can see you again. Waking up and knowing you’re breathing somewhere, even if we’re not on the same crew… it’s an overwhelming relief. For me and for Vista and Izou.”

Ace leaned further against the log behind him, dropping his head back to look at the star saturated night sky. “My old crew… do you know where they are or what they’re doing right now?”

“A few of them yes,” Marco answered. “Banshee and Wallace left together for a port town near the Red Line. I think they wanted to be close to Fishman Island for something, but I can’t say for sure since they never talked to me much. Mihal is with Skull and Kotatsu, traveling and teaching on a cluster of islands between Pops’ old territory and Red-Hair’s. Saber’s still on the paddle ship right now, I’m not sure what he’s planning to do, but Cornelia left to hunt down her younger brother.”

Ace tilted his head. “I didn’t know she had a brother actually.”

“Me neither. I swear she mentioned his name but, to be honest, I don’t think I was listening.”

“Thank you Marco, you’re very helpful.”

“Shut up.”

Ace chuckled. “Do you know what island Wallace and Banshee are on?”

“Yeah,” Marco said. “I can get a hold of Skull and Mihal too. Planning to contact them?”

“As soon as Shanks says I’m good to go,” Ace said, tracing the scars. “The moment he confirms that I have a good enough handle on my Haki and swordwork, to the point where I can hold my own on the Grand Line, or at least come close to what my bounty is, then I’m coming back.”

“And you want to hunt down your old crew?” Marco was smiling. “Get the gang back together?”

Ace stared at the fire. “I know we can’t exactly be the same Spades we used to be, especially since I burned our flag,” he grinned at Marco, “but there’s no shame in designing a new flag and coming back strong as a new version of the crew that made me famous.” His smile sank and he looked down at where Deuce was against his shoulder. “They’re my family, and I want them to know that hasn’t changed and never will. If we can be a family again, then that’s what I want to happen.”

“The New Spade Pirates, huh?”

Ace laid his head against Deuce’s, smiling wistfully into the fire. “Yeah. The New Spade Pirates.”


	8. Revolutionary Army — Part 1: Izou

Baltigo was a site to behold. An island of white that Izou first assumed was a winter island, though the blue sky above was speckled with clouds and the weather was only mildly cold. Towering spirals of rock formations covered parts of the land, along the shoreline and out into the shallows of the sea around the island. They had grown in such a way that the tide around the island was hazardous, which made Izou rather uncomfortable, but the Revolutionary Army Commander who had identified himself as Lindbergh reassured the samurai that it was fine.

“We’ve pulled in and out of here enough times to know how to reach the dock,” the cat mink had a bemused grin spread across his face as the light glinted across his goggles. “Just sit tight and we’ll have you at the base in no time.”

Izou nodded. Lindbergh would know more about it than him after all. The wind seemed to be exceptionally helpful at the moment, aiding the ship in sharp turns that they never would’ve been able to maneuver on their own. It was almost unnatural, but Izou decided not to comment on it for fear of insulting the army soldiers he’d been traveling with for the past week.

It was alarming how quickly he’d reached the Revolutionary Army’s base of operations. Only two weeks had passed since Izou left the remnants of his former crew. Two weeks since he last saw Ace, Deuce, Marco and Vista on the island near the Calm Belt where Shanks had been secretly training the Second Division Commander for the past year.

Izou wasn’t surprised that he’d gotten here so quickly. Skull’s information was always accurate, and he knew exactly where the RA’s closest connection was. At first they’d been hesitant when Izou had appeared, exchanging confused expressions when the former Division Commander announced he’d come to join the Revolution. He already knew it sounded absurd, but he had his reasons, and when he said he would only reveal those reasons to their leader, they’d shrugged their shoulders.

They had an appreciation for discretion, which played to Izou’s favor, and he was on a ship on its way to Baltigo in a matter of days. His companions were still understandably wary around him, but Izou didn’t mind. At the very least, Lindbergh kept him company. The cat mink seemed interested in Izou’s weapons, fingers always twitching curiously at his sides when the other man pulled out one of the guns to show it off.

“Wano’s handiwork is absolutely gorgeous,” Lindbergh would say every time. If it weren’t for the goggles he wore, Izou was sure he’d see the man’s eyes glowing.

It was almost sweet enough for Izou to let the inventor hold one of the pistols, but he never did. These guns were irreplaceable after all. He couldn’t afford to let someone else touch them.

The wind brought their ship closer to the side of the towering cliffs where an enormous cave entrance was located, just as Izou was pulled from his musings by Lindbergh’s out of character whispers coming from behind him. Izou didn’t make a move to show he could hear, but he did strain his ears in order to eavesdrop as the Army Commander talked with one of his companions.

“Joe, have you heard from the Chief at all?”

“Afraid not,” the response, like the initial question, was whispered. “I haven’t spoken to him in weeks. Usually when we call in, Koala is the one who answers.”

“That worries me.”

“It could be nothing. The Chief has a lot of responsibility, remember. He could just be busy.”

“Considering how close we are to _that,”_ Lindbergh emphasized the last word and paused for a moment. “I just hope he has some handle on himself. I don’t ever want to see that boy suffering like that again.”

“There’s really not much we can do on that front, Lind,” Joe said with a helpless edge to his voice. “We’ll be here for it this time, if he needs us.”

“Even if he does,” Lindbergh murmured, “the Chief’s not the kind of person to open himself up for comfort. Do you really think he’ll accept it? That idiot _wants_ to suffer.”

Izou didn’t know who or what they were discussing, but the conversation ended as the shadow of the cave fell over the ship deck.

Inside the cave was a docking bay that looked to have been carved out by hand. There were a few other boats there: some small, some the same size as what Izou had been traveling on. One enormous ship with a dragon figurehead was anchored in the center of the bay — probably their flag ship.

Izou felt momentarily homesick for the _Moby Dick,_ but shook away the loneliness before he could sink into it. He pinched his eyes closed to fend off the memories of that day, and the memories of the Grudge War against Blackbeard that had broken the Whitebeard pirates only two months ago.

The scar on Izou’s head was still raw and red. It itched and ached badly sometimes, worsening when Izou was stressed or if something was wrong. The mark now served as a memory of everything Izou had lost, as well as a blaring warning signal in the form of jabbing pain when the weather was changing or someone around him was upset. Actually it was kind of annoying, but Vista insisted it looked cool. Izou took his word for it. He was just grateful that the injury hadn’t taken his sight.

A cheerful voice greeted them almost immediately after they dropped anchor and lowered the ramp, descending to the stone shore that had been carved out into the water like a dock. “Lind! Joe! Welcome home!”

Izou located the source of the voice where a young woman was standing at the end of the dock. Her orange hair was cut short and she was smiling, carrying a thick file under one of her arms. Her free hand was propped against her hip and she was watching the group approach her in clear delight. She looked like a pleasant person, but Izou reminded himself that if she was there, then that meant she was a soldier. She may have looked nice, but it would be best not to underestimate her.

That thought repeated a few more times when Izou’s attention shifted to the imposing fishman that stood at her side, towering above her with arms folded. He was wearing an open gi with a black belt — a fishman karate expert no doubt, which was intimidating in its own rights. Izou had seen Jimbei use fishman karate, and it was no joke. Already the Revolutionary Army was introducing some extremely formidable members, and he hadn’t even entered their base yet.

“Glad to be back,” Lindbergh greeted the duo. “Anything happen while we were gone?”

“Not a thing,” the fishman answered before looking at Izou. “Is this the samurai we were informed about?”

“This is him,” Lindbergh confirmed. “Izou, this is our Fishman Karate Instructor, Hack, and his karate assistant, Koala.”

Izou felt deeply impressed — he knew she’d be strong — looking from Hack to Koala. “You know Fishman Karate?”

“That’s right,” Koala’s eyes glimmered in mischief. “I’ve been training for years under Hack.”

“I’m surprised. I never knew humans could learn Fishman style Karate.”

Koala looked even more pleased by the compliment, hugging the file against her chest and turning on her heel. “Hm, well, it wasn’t easy.”

“Is the boss still here?” Lindbergh asked.

Koala nodded. “In his study.”

“Chief with him?”

Koala’s smile fell. Even Hack looked suddenly tired. Izou tensed as Lindbergh seemed to deflate beside him.

“He doing as bad as I expected?”

Koala turned back to face him. “He does better when we don’t bring it up,” she admitted, eyes flickering to Izou before returning to her companion. “Although this may unwittingly bring something back.”

“Not much we can do about that,” Lindbergh said, and Koala nodded in agreement.

“Let’s just go.”

“Is there a problem?” Izou asked, and Koala sent a beaming smile that seemed very fake in his direction.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself over. Follow me, I’ll bring you to Dragon- _san’s_ study.” She turned and started to walk towards a set of stone steps. Izou followed after her with Lindbergh at his side, and Hack took up the rear. “Right now he’s discussing some things with our Chief of Staff. You’ll have to meet him as well since he’s in charge of many of the recruits and soldiers.”

“The Chief of Staff is…?”

“The Second in Command after Dragon,” Hack answered the unfinished question. “When Dragon’s not around, we take orders from the Chief of Staff.”

Izou felt mildly uncomfortable as a knot formed in his chest. So the Chief of Staff was the Revolutionary Army’s Number Two. That title alone was extremely telling. The leader of the Revolution was considered to be the most wanted man in the world — the most heinous criminal in history after Gold Roger. Izou had never even seen his _face_ before, but his reputation alone was enigmatic and intimidating. Even Whitebeard had been wary of discussing his existence.

A man like that… what kind of person would he have chosen as his second in command? What kind of person would Dragon the Revolutionary put that much trust in, that he was willing to place his entire army in their hands when he wasn’t around?

Izou wasn’t a weak man, but he’d be lying if he said his heart wasn’t hammering away in his chest. He was both terrified and elated to meet the people who ran this so-called terrorist organization. Izou was expecting to see daunting, overwhelming men that towered over him like Whitebeard. What he saw when he followed Koala and Lindbergh into the study was a little less than that, but he was at least half right.

The man sitting behind the desk — his elbows propped up and his fingers threaded together — was _definitely_ intimidating. His hair was black and wild, and there was a red mark tattooed down the left side of his face that made him appear even more daunting. He seemed to have a perpetually disappointed expression on his face, and appeared dangerously unamused by whatever he was doing. His dark eyes were looking at something on the table, but they lifted when the group of four entered the room. His presence was almost strangling. Izou could tell immediately that this man was very powerful.

The person standing beside his chair, on the other hand, looked far less intimidating. He looked young, with wavy blonde hair and striking blue eyes. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and black vest with red gloves. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled back, and Izou’s eyes narrowed on the scars that were splattered along his left arm. Even from the distance separating them, Izou could tell they were burn scars. They were familiar somehow, and it only took Izou a few moments of contemplation to realize that they matched the scars on Ace’s arm.

They were in the same spot, on the same arm, though Izou was willing to bet the causes were very different. Not to mention that unlike Ace, the blond standing before Izou had extensive scarring on the left side of his face as well.

It covered his eye, up behind his bangs and down his cheek to his neck, curving along to the back of his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. Izou had to note that the man’s left eye was a distinctly paler blue than his right, which made Izou wonder if he was half blind. What had this kid been through to leave him with that kind of horrific scarring?

He was suddenly feeling embarrassed for scowling at his own scar, which seemed pitiful compared to the ones marring this stranger’s face.

 _This_ was the Chief of Staff? _This_ was the Revolutionary Army’s Number Two? Dragon’s Second in Command? Izou couldn’t tell how old he was — the scarring made it rather difficult to gauge since it made the blond appear older than he probably was — but he couldn’t have been much older than Ace. If that was the case, then he was probably as formidable as Izou assumed.

Maybe he’d received those intense scars during a fight against the Government. That would make sense.

Izou stared at him for so long that he was able to pick out the rather pale shade of his skin, and the layers of shadow beneath his eyes. The young man looked exhausted, but his eyes lit up when he seemed to recognize the people who’d entered. The smile that spread across his lips was almost contagious. Izou could feel his mouth trembling from the strain of keeping a straight, respectful face.

“Lind!” The blond greeted the cat mink enthusiastically. “Welcome home!”

“Happy to be back, Chief! How have you been doing? Not sleeping much?”

The Chief of Staff continued to smile, but Izou noticed the glimmer in his eyes fade to leave a glassy sheen in its place. “Of course I’ve been sleeping, but thanks for worrying about me.”

“Alright,” Lindbergh murmured, clearly not approving of the response but not pushing the subject. “Anyway, we can discuss my mission later. Right now I’d like to introduce you to someone!”

The Chief’s smile was replaced by a curious expression as he shifted his eyes to acknowledge where Izou was standing just behind Lindbergh’s left shoulder. Dragon lifted his chin from where it had been sitting on his folded hands.

“The pistol wielding samurai,” he said by way of greeting. “Interesting. I’ve been told a bit about you from Lindbergh.”

“You must be the infamous Revolutionary, Dragon,” Izou said, meeting the man’s piercing eyes. “It’s an honor. I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you from anyone.”

The Chief’s lips quivered in an amused smile he fought to smother as Dragon stared deadpan at Izou.

“I’ll let you take care of this,” Lindbergh decided. “I need to find Betty, Karasu and Morley to catch up with them. Call me later for my report when you’ve settled things here.”

“Do you need us to stay?” Koala asked, and Dragon lifted one hand.

“No. Thank you. Don’t let us keep you from your work.”

“See you later,” Lindbergh gave Izou a salute. “You should let me take a look at your pistols later.”

“You keep bringing that up as if I’ll change my mind from no,” Izou said.

Lindbergh snickered as he followed Koala and Hack from the room, leaving the former pirate alone with the two leaders of the Revolutionary Army.

Izou had to admit he felt out of place, but he was there for a reason and had no intentions of backing down. He had no plan B if Dragon turned him away, so he focused his attention back on the intimidating man and prepared to offer his reasons on why he’d be an asset for the RA.

Dragon had set his chin back on top of his folded hands. The Chief of Staff was leaning his hip against the arm of Dragon’s chair, arms folded across his chest — Izou’s eyes flickered to the scar on his left arm but tore them away before he could be caught. Both of them were watching Izou with expectant gazes.

“First I’d like to thank you for agreeing to see me,” Izou said. “I imagine you’re a very busy man who doesn’t have much time for this kind of thing, so I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” Dragon said. “I recognize your face. Izou, Sixteenth Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates.”

The Chief’s gaze shifted away from Izou to glance at Dragon from the corner of his eyes. Izou got the distinction that he was purposely avoiding the samurai’s eye for some reason. The frown on his lips had gone from lightly curious to deep set discomfort.

“Yes,” Izou confirmed, lifting his left hand to idly touch the emblem printed on the shoulder of his kimono. “I was.”

Dragon shut his eyes with a hum. “Right. The crew disbanded rather recently. I read the article.” He reopened his eyes to watch Izou. “I did wonder what Whitebeard’s children would choose to do. Starting a short lived war with Blackbeard was perhaps fifth on my list of theories.”

Izou snorted, shaking his head to fend off any of the memories from that fight. He didn’t want to think about it.

“What has the rest of your crew decided to do?” Dragon asked.

Izou dropped his hand from his arm, his thoughts going immediately to Ace’s training under Shanks. He knew he most definitely couldn’t bring _that_ up.

“I can’t be sure,” he admitted. “Some of them integrated into allied crews. I’m sure some of them returned to their homes or regrouped into former crews they were in before joining Pops. I’m only in contact with my fellow former Commanders.”

“I see,” Dragon murmured. “And you chose to seek us out rather than do any of that?”

“You’re originally from Wano, aren’t you?” The Chief asked, and Izou was finally able to meet his eye.

He wondered for a moment if the pain he could see was a mirror of his own, or from something else that Izou couldn’t comprehend.

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “I left my home country and joined Pops’ crew a long time ago. I wanted the worldly experience, and —” He paused abruptly, images of familiar faces flashing in front of his eyes.

_Kiku. Oden._

Izou fended off a wince by turning his head to look at Dragon. “I can’t return to my home yet. There are still things I need to do, experiences I need to immerse myself in. I have every intention of returning to Wano — I have promises I still need to fulfill — but I’ve always been curious about the Revolutionary Army.”

“Have you?” Dragon seemed intrigued and waited patiently for Izou to speak further.

“I can’t quite explain the extent as to why I want to be here,” Izou admitted, “but my resolve is firm. My home country is under the hand of a tyrant, and my people are suffering.” He lifted his hands. “Please know I’m not imploring for your aid by saying that. I’ve been traveling the Grand Line long enough to know the level of corruption that every island is under. Your work is here and in the four blues,” he slowly lowered his hands, “but I’m part of my own army whose aim is to take down _that man_ in Wano; to avenge our dear friend.”

Dragon looked more interested at that, lifting his chin. “If you have your own Revolution to join, why are you here?”

“Because it’s not time yet,” Izou said. “Surely you can understand the strain of patience, of waiting for the right time — for a signal. We’re not strong enough. I’m not strong enough,” he whispered the addition with a wince.

Ace was fine now, but he had still died. Izou had failed to protect him because he wasn’t strong enough. His father had died because he hadn’t been strong enough.

“None of us have enough power yet, so all I can do is continue to fight and train until we're all called back to Wano for our final fight.” He bowed his head and shut his eyes. “More than my life is on the line. This is about my honor as a samurai, and as a friend. I’ve lost many people and have continually failed to avenge them.” He lifted his head, pausing a moment longer than intended when he noticed the agonized expression on the Chief’s face. “From now until I’m called back to finish what my people started in Wano, if you allow me to join your ranks, I will fight for the Revolutionary Army and their goals.”

Dragon rubbed his jaw. “You’re willing to fight a World Government that has never touched Wano soil?”

“I have my own motivations to fight the Government and the Marines,” Izou reassured with a tight smile. He hoped that the two men would be able to read through the vague context of his words, because the last thing he wanted to discuss was how angry was about Marineford.

The Chief winced noticeably enough that Dragon cast him a quick look, as if ensuring that he was still standing. He then turned his attention back to Izou.

“If we cared about resumes, yours would be one of the best I’ve seen,” he noted, dropping his folded hands to the tabletop. “I believe the Revolution would greatly benefit from your help.”

Izou felt a rush of relief and delight at the confirmation that he could stay. “Thank you,” he said with a low bow.

Dragon sat back in his seat and Izou stood straighter. “You’ll be working with the army commanders as well as my Chief of Staff, Sabo.”

Izou glanced at the blond, who gave Izou an unsteady, sheepish smile, accompanied by a nod of acknowledgement.

“Just ask Sabo if you have any questions or concerns, he’ll take care of everything.”

“Sabo,” Izou repeated. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“No,” Sabo said. He was still smiling, but there was a certain darkness to his eyes. “Really, it shouldn’t be.” He picked up a folder that had been sitting on the desk in front of him as he walked around the desk towards Izou. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. I’ll show you to a room.”

“Get some rest yourself once you’re done,” Dragon said.

Sabo’s steps faltered for an instant before he lifted a hand in a wave. “Yeah, just as soon as I’m done reviewing this file and talking to Lindbergh about his mission.”

Izou looked between the two Revolutionaries. Dragon’s frown had deepened on his face as he watched his Chief of Staff stride towards the door. The kid was walking notably fast, as if attempting to avoid a lecture from his superior. Judging by Dragon’s frown, he certainly wanted to give one.

“This way, Mister Samurai.” Sabo held the door open for Izou, who took another moment to bow to Dragon before following the younger man from the room.

“Izou,” he said. “Call me Izou.”

“Izou _-san_ then,” Sabo smiled over his shoulder before facing forward again.

“The honorific isn’t necessary,” Izou said — it felt strange coming from someone who was meant to be his superior.

Sabo shrugged, brushing off the comment as he led Izou around corners and down long hallways. They occasionally passed other members of the army. Most of them offered Sabo a brilliant smile and greeting before eyeing Izou curiously — at times suspiciously.

More than once the soldiers would turn to walk with Sabo, handing him more files or asking questions. It was clear as day that Sabo took his position as the second in command very seriously, and so did the rest of the army.

“That’s a lot of paperwork,” Izou said, staring at the stack of papers under Sabo’s arm that had tripled since leaving Dragon’s study.

“Is it? Seems like a slow day to me. Here we are.” Sabo paused in front of a door, pushing it open and stepping inside. He kept an arm out to hold the door open so Izou could join him.

It was a modest room with a single bed to the left, a dusty desk to the right, a large double window parallel to the door, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a door at the foot of the bed that led into a washroom.

“I know it’s a bit small,” Sabo paced over to the windows, opening them both to let in the sea breeze, “but it’s got a gorgeous view. I’ll bring you a change of sheets for the bed and some towels. Meals are served around the same time every day. I’ll show you to the different training grounds as soon as you’ve settled in. Your weapon of choice is a firearm, correct?”

“Flintlock pistols.” Izou reached back to pull one of the guns from his sash, holding it out for Sabo to see. “I know it’s a little old fashioned —”

“It’s beautiful!” Sabo stepped closer to look, though he didn’t try to touch the gun. “Wow. I see a lot of fancy guns because of Betty and Lind, but there’s something incomparably beautiful about a vintage like this.” Izou was alarmed by the statement, turning to watch Sabo walk back towards the door. “Anyway it’s not the fancy gun that does the damage, it’s the person who pulls the trigger. There’s a gun range on the south east side of the island. You should fit in well with our sniper specialists.”

“Sounds fun.” Izou returned the gun to his sash, frowning when Sabo paused at the door and turned to face the room.

“I can imagine how difficult it will be to adjust to your surroundings here. You were in a different environment before, and you left behind friends.” Izou tensed up but held Sabo’s gaze as the younger man offered him a smile. “If you ever need to talk, there are a lot of people here who will understand your position, and I’m always available if you need something.”

Izou nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Sabo stepped back into the hall, pulling the door with him. “I’ll leave you to get settled now. If you’d prefer, I can come inform you when dinner is about to be served.”

“Sure, that would be great. At least until I’ve gotten the layout of the base down.”

Sabo smiled again and shut the door with a click, leaving Izou alone in the narrow bedroom.

For a moment all Izou did was stand there in the silence, eyes panning slowly around to take everything in. All he could hear was the rush of the waves from the open window and the whistle of the wind. The thick stone walls blocked out any noise that could have come from the bedrooms located on either side of him, though occasionally he heard hollow steps pass by his door out in the hall. It was a little cold, but that was nothing Izou couldn’t handle.

He was standing stationary and staring at the wall for five minutes before someone knocked on the door. Izou opened it to a short man carrying a pile of sheets, pillows and towels. He seemed enthusiastic as he handed everything over. Izou could feel his hyper energy stemmed from the simple fact he was happy to be helpful.

“Ask if you need anything! What’s your name again?”

“Izou.”

“Ask if you need anything, Mister Izou!”

“I will,” Izou assured, not bothering to insist that it was fine if people just called him by his name.

He got the feeling no one would listen anyway.

He was grateful that Lindbergh at least seemed comfortable enough around Izou to hold familiar conversations with him. It made him feel a lot less out of place, and he really hoped the Chief of Staff would learn to address him more familiarly rather than using an honorific.

For the next few hours Izou kept himself busy by making his sleeping quarters more comfortable and livable. He cleaned away the dust, secured the clean sheets onto his bed, and pulled out the meager belongings he’d brought along with him — all easily held in a drawstring bag hanging over his left shoulder.

One of the important objects was a transponder snail that Marco had given him for emergencies. It was blue with a tuft of blond sticking out from its head and a simplified version of Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger marked on its chest, mirroring Marco’s tattoo. The other man had given the snail to Izou before separating with the request to contact him once in a while.

_“I know you can’t tell me what you’re doing there, but I’d like to know you’re alive.”_

Izou set the sleeping snail on his desk, then dug out the only framed photo he’d managed to salvage after the _Moby Dick_ burned. It was a family portrait of sorts that had been taken a few weeks after Ace had officially accepted the title of a Division Commander. It showed all sixteen commanders standing around Whitebeard’s seat, where the legendary pirate was lounging and grinning like he wanted nothing more out of life than this.

Ace was standing with his right arm slung around Thatch’s neck, while the chef awkwardly hunched sideways so Ace could reach. Thatch used to tease Ace constantly about their height difference. Ace would respond that he was short because he was still just a kid, but the argument got less potent the older he got. By the time he was twenty all he could do was fold his arms and brood as Thatch laughed. They’d been good friends, Izou recalled wistfully. Ace and Thatch had been close even before Ace shared cups with them.

Izou was standing on Ace’s left side, hands tucked into his sleeves and laughing at Ace and Thatch rather than looking at the camera. Marco stood between Izou and Whitebeard with one arm propped against Izou’s shoulder, grinning at their head chef and newest Division Commander. On Thatch’s other side stood Jozu, Vista, Haruta and Namur, and the rest of the Division Commander’s had gathered on Whitebeard’s left — but they were all looking towards Ace and Thatch, beaming and laughing and having the time of their lives.

Izou set the photo on the desk beside Marco’s transponder snail, lifting a hand to rub his eyes with his fingers and scrubbing away the sting, fighting off the tears threatening to crest his cheeks. He had to get it together. Ace was fine.

They lost Thatch and Whitebeard, but wherever they were in the afterlife they were relieved and happy, because Ace was _alive._ They’d succeeded in rescuing their little brother, and even if it hurt that they’d lost practically everything else, Izou needed to cling to what he still had.

He was sitting on the window bench reading by sunlight when someone knocked on his door hours later, prompting him to lift his head when it was cracked open. Koala was the one to pop her head in, looking sheepish but with a friendly smile on her lips.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Izou said, shutting his book and standing up.

Koala pushed the door open further and took a few steps into the room. “I came to get you for dinner.”

“Already?” Izou looked back at the window, a little surprised to see that the sun was going down. That did explain why it had been getting harder to see the words on the page.

“I can get you a light for your room later,” Koala offered, as if she could read Izou’s mind.

“The Chief said he’d be the one to retrieve me,” Izou said, and Koala frowned.

At first Izou worried he’d offended her, which hadn’t been his intention, but Koala just looked towards the desk. “Sabo _-kun’s_ still working right now. I stopped by to give him some reports and tell him it was time to eat, but he said he’d grab something from the kitchen when he was done and asked me to come get you.”

“Oh.”

Koala leaned not so inconspicuously towards the desk — probably to get a better look at the picture. “He’s not avoiding you,” she reassured.

Izou could only frown at the statement. “I didn’t think he was.”

Koala gave Izou a startled look. “You didn’t?”

“No?” Izou furrowed his brow. “Why would he be avoiding me? Did I do something?” Koala looked alarmed, so Izou set his book down on the desk and waved a hand at Marco’s snail to change the subject. “Is it okay that I have a transponder snail here? It’s a direct line to the former First Division Commander — my former vice captain. He’s the only one I can call with it, and I won’t tell him anything about this place. He just wanted to be able to contact me to ensure I was alright.”

Koala still looked surprised, but she nodded. “Yeah that should be fine.” She turned on her heel, holding her chin in thought. “Hm, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s Sabo _-kun_ after all.” She waved her hand for Izou. “This way.”

Izou stared after her in confusion before following.

The building where the army soldiers took refuge was ancient — the ruins of a civilization that had long since been eradicated. It seemed fitting that the Revolutionary Army should stake their roots in the bones of a kingdom that had died from their pride. Even so it was a lively place, and the mess hall that Koala led him to was almost completely filled, though there were at least half a dozen vacant tables, showing that their numbers were far greater than what Izou could see, or possibly even imagine.

Somehow, maybe through the luck of who he was and where he’d come from, Izou ended up seated at the table with a number of the army’s top commanders. He sat with Lindbergh at his left and two empty seats at his right. When Izou commented on it, Lindbergh explained that the chairs were normally occupied by the army’s two leaders.

“Neither are joining us?” Izou questioned, and Lindbergh snorted.

“The boss almost never eats with us,” the cat mink explained. “He’s always busy with something important, and he likes his privacy.”

“He’ll eat with us on rare occasions,” Hack said, “but normally takes meals in his office.”

“The Chief eats with us more often than not,” Lindbergh added, carefully peeling the skin off a fish on his plate. “Though the past few months he’s been missing meals.”

“He’s like that sometimes,” an imposing man even taller than Hack seated at the far end of the table commented — Lindbergh had introduced him as Morley. “He does as much as the Boss, and he has this nasty habit of overworking himself when he’s already stressed out.”

“He likes making himself suffer,” Lindbergh mumbled through his mouthful. “He says he eats when he’s done with work, so he’ll probably be in the kitchen around one or two tonight when everyone else is asleep like the gremlin he is.”

“He _better_ be eating,” Koala said, eyes shut and brow twitching as she tapped the prongs of her fork against her plate. “Eating that late isn’t good either, he should be _sleeping,_ but so long as he really is eating.”

Hack grumbled. “At this point one or the other is the best we can hope for. Asking for both would be too much.”

“Look on the bright side, babe,” a tall woman with purple hair that Koala named as Betty dragged over a full plate of seared meat, lifting a two pronged fork and grinning, “at least none of us have to fight him for the good Sea King meat tonight!”

Koala folded her arms, looking less than pleased. “That selfish jerk…”

Despite the clear concern everyone at the table held for their Chief of Staff, Izou could only smile into his tea.

Ace used to be like that. Meals with him were like a war. He was always snatching the meat away before anyone else had a chance to get at it. Thatch used to be the only one brave enough to try and physically pry it from his teeth — more out of pride than wanting to eat it himself.

Betty’s comment about fighting for the good meat may have been a throwaway, but it made Izou genuinely smile at the concept that someone else out there was as chaotic with food as the Whitebeard’s beloved Second Division Commander.

He wasn’t surprised the Chief wasn’t there if he was still working. Izou had seen the impressive stack of files the younger man had collected in just the short walk from Dragon’s study to Izou’s quarters. Though he did wonder if the Chief would be done by the following day. He’d promised to show Izou to the training grounds after all, and Izou was looking forward to actually putting his skills to use and showing the Revolutionary Army what he was capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major apologies for the long wait on this chapter, and another major apology that it's so short! The initial chapter I wrote actually ended up being around 11.6k words unedited, but it was taking a ton of time to edit and was way too wordy, so I decided after some debate that I would split it into two chapters around 6k-ish words. This way I can give you guys a chapter sooner, cuz you've all been super patient and deserve it! Technically speaking I already have the next chapter written, I just have to edit and do a TON of rewrite (because I can add a bit more to it now that it's not 11k words rip). Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and sorry again for taking so long! - penguin <3


	9. Revolutionary Army — Part 2: Izou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: alcohol abuse

The following day, instead of Sabo coming to get him for breakfast, Lindbergh was the one to knock on his door. Rather than asking where the Chief was, Izou quietly followed the cat mink to the mess hall for the morning meal, trying not to feel disappointed as he sat in the same seat as the night before. He wondered for a moment if he’d always be sidelined by the same two empty seats.

“Last night the Chief asked Lind and I to bring you to the shooting range,” Betty interrupted his silent musing, and Izou’s spirits lifted instantaneously.

“That would be great.”

“Sorry it’s us and not the Chief,” Lindbergh apologized. “He’s usually supposed to take care of new staff members — being Chief of Staff and all — but you ended up joining at a pretty bad time.”

“He did seem busy,” Izou admitted. “I never imagined there would be so much paperwork in the Revolutionary Army.”

“Oh you have no idea,” Lindbergh was grinning his teeth, but it looked more like a grimace than a smile.

Izou had a bad feeling about that expression and hoped he wouldn’t be asked to write any reports, but the odds were he probably would be. It would make sense considering the extensive operation the army was attempting. They needed to be organized and methodical. If writing reports helped them stay that way, then who was Izou to complain?

Though he would. He definitely would.

For the next week Izou was kept busy at the shooting range or getting to know the lay of the island, base and extensive tunnels running beneath the surface of the land; an emergency precaution from what Morley explained, and Izou decided to take his word for it. An organization as infamously illegal as the Revolutionary Army would need to be paranoid as their default mode, of course they’d have emergency escape routes and hidden rooms.

Izou didn’t see much of Dragon, and even less of Sabo. The most Izou would catch were glimpses of the Chief in the hall, usually carrying files, sheets of paper, or books. When he was with other people he had a tired but polite smile on his face, and the shadows beneath his blue eyes always seemed heavier and darker.

He didn’t know the Chief well — not at all, as a matter of fact — but every time Izou saw him and saw he looked a little worse than before, he felt a little more worried for the kid. It looked like he wasn’t sleeping, and honestly Izou doubted he’d been eating either. He locked himself in his bedroom with the comment that he was busy working, and that was that.

It was the middle of the week when Izou finally voiced one of the questions that had been nagging at the back of his mind since first meeting Sabo. “I’ve been wondering for a while, but how old is the Chief?”

“Old, how old is he,” Betty repeated the question to herself, chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette and looking through the scope on her rifle that was aimed down the range. “I have no idea. Young, though. When’s his birthday, Lind?”

Izou peered over his shoulder at where Lindbergh was seated on a crate of supplies, cleaning a gun. “Not a clue, but let’s be honest, he might not know either.” He looked up from shining the barrel of his gun. “We don’t have much base as to what or how much he remembers, and I don’t think he’s in the mood to tell us. He’s gotta be in his twenties though, right? He said he was the same age as —” he cut himself off immediately.

The words seemed to have paralyzed both gunmen, and Izou felt equally as frozen by their unexpected reactions. It was as if they’d started discussing something forbidden before an unseen force stopped them. Was it really that private of a topic? Izou didn’t mind people’s ages, and he certainly didn’t hold youth against those who acted as his superiors. He’d known many young people who were stronger than or as strong as him — Ace included. To Izou, that just proved someone's natural skill and talent. It demanded respect, and Izou was happy to give it.

Betty reached up to pull the cigarette from her teeth, finally answering the question. “Best guess, twenty-one.”

Izou’s frown seemed to weigh down the corners of his lips. “He really is just a kid then.”

“Hey, don’t joke,” Lindbergh was smiling in something that looked like pride. “I’ve seen that kid take down regimes of soldiers twice his size without so much as breaking a sweat.”

“Lunatic,” Betty stuck the cigarette in her mouth again before searching through her pockets

“I didn’t mean anything negative by it.” Izou lowered the gun he’d been aiming, looking back at Lindbergh. “What do you mean when you say he might not remember?”

Lindbergh shrugged. “Just that. He might not remember. Pretty simple.”

“But what does that mean?”

“You’ve seen his face, yeah?” Betty asked, pulling a lighter from her jacket pocket and lifting it to light the end of her cigarette. “To be honest, we don’t know much about it either, but he had some form of memory loss or amnesia.”

“Memory loss,” Izou stared at Betty. “Had? So he doesn’t anymore?”

Betty tucked away the lighter and took a long drag off her cigarette. “Like I said, we don’t know much about it either, and he doesn’t really talk about it. Why would he, right? If something traumatizing takes your mind away from you, the only thing that’s gonna bring it back is something equally traumatizing. Maybe moreso.”

Izou couldn’t help the way his heart seized empathetically in his chest. “He’s just a kid…”

“Yeah? So?” Betty looked down at Izou over the rims of her sunglasses. “Pain doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care if you’re ten, twenty, rich or poor. All it knows is consumption. It takes and hurts, not giving a damn about the wreckage it leaves behind.”

She turned her head to look back down the range. “Let me tell you one thing I know for certain though — the Chief’s mind is the epitome of wreckage. Whether every last memory returns or not, it’s not gonna fix what’s already broken.” She lifted her rifle, propping it against her shoulder with one hand and pulling the cigarette from her mouth to ash it. “Might make it worse, actually.”

 _“Has_ made it worse,” Lindbergh muttered under his breath — Izou got the feeling he wasn’t supposed to have heard that, so he didn’t respond. Lindbergh climbed to his feet with his newly cleaned gun in hand, striding over to stand between Izou and Betty. “Never mind that, though. There’s not much we can do about it. So! How about you show off that fancy pistol ammunition you’ve been boasting about for four days?”

The rest of the week went by slowly, and seemed to get slower the closer it got to Whitebeard’s death. All things considered Izou didn’t think anyone would care enough about the anniversary to remember it was even coming up, but it was hard not to notice that Betty, Lindbergh and the rest seemed to be hyper aware of Izou’s moods.

Even more than he himself was — likely because he was shoving everything down to avoid it. He truthfully didn’t realize he was feeling off until Lindbergh brought it up after dinner the night before the anniversary.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” The cat mink asked under his breath after catching up with Izou in the hall.

Izou’s steps slowed so Lindbergh wouldn’t have to jog, glancing down at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve just been slower today is all,” Lindbergh said, scratching an ear. “Wanted to check on you.”

“I’m… fine,” Izou said, taking a short pause between words as if to ask himself if he really was fine before confirming it. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Don’t be sorry, I was just being paranoid. Can never be too careful, you know, and it’s important to take care of each other here.” Lindbergh turned down another hall, waving back towards Izou. “See you in the morning.”

Izou’s steps stayed sluggish after that, his mind sinking into a blob of slush and heavy thought. He’d been so busy with the army that he’d almost forgotten, but it seemed his subconscious and body still remembered. That was why he was so slow; because his body couldn’t keep up with the debilitating memories just waiting for the chance to re-emerge.

That night Izou tossed and turned restlessly under the covers, unable to relax enough to sleep. When he did manage to get a few hours of rest he just ended up suffering a nightmare, so when he startled awake he chose to stay that way. In the end he figured being a little tired was a better alternative than reliving the same terrible day over again.

When morning came and the sun was streaking through the gap in the curtains over his window, Izou gave up on trying to rest completely. He rolled onto his side to face the wall and dragged the pillow over his head. The emotions coursing through him were unexpectedly raw, even after a year of dealing with the fallout and learning to cope with it. He knew how to properly deal with the pain, yet he still couldn’t seem to find the energy to get up.

Maybe because he was alone.

Before now, whenever he was feeling the pain from their father’s loss, there was always someone to reach out to. Whether it was Marco or Vista, someone from his crew was always there. He was never alone and that helped. Now, suddenly faced with the anniversary, Izou felt agonized. The memories had returned full force. The scar on his head burned like a fresh wound. Izou could’ve sworn that he could smell blood and gunpowder as his family fought helplessly to rescue their beloved crew mate, only to lose them both.

 _Ace is fine,_ he silently reminded himself. _Ace is fine._

Izou didn’t react when Lindbergh knocked on the door and cracked it open. “Morning!” the cat mink’s voice greeted, and Izou was about to announce he didn’t feel well before the south blue commander quickly continued. “Brought you some breakfast and tea. Looks like a summer storm’s on its way so don’t worry about getting up today. Not much to do anyway.”

Izou dragged the pillow off his head, rolling over to peer towards the revolutionary. “What?”

“I’ll be working with Betty if you need me, and the Boss is gonna be here for a few more weeks before heading out if you have a more difficult question.” Lindbergh set the platter on Izou’s desk. “Chief’s in a bad way himself so I’d keep wary of him for now.”

Izou propped himself onto an elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “He’s sick?”

“In a sense,” Lindbergh answered, shuffling back towards the door. “I’ll be heading out now. Try and get some rest.”

Izou stared at the door as it shut. He hadn’t been expecting breakfast in bed, and he certainly didn’t expect the transponder snail on his desk to start chattering just seconds after Lindbergh exited the room. He tossed back the blankets and stepped over to the desk, sitting down and answering the snail before the caller got impatient. Not that he ever would have.

“Marco?”

_“Did I wake you up?”_

“No, I was awake. Didn’t expect such an early call, though.”

_“I wanted to check up on you; see how you were doing today.”_

Izou shut his eyes. “Of course you did. I’m… probably what you’d expect.” He reopened his eyes to stare at the photo set up beside the snail. “How about you?”

 _“Didn’t sleep,”_ Marco admitted. _“I’m gonna call everyone to see how they’re doing, then fly a little. Think it might do me some good.”_

“Gonna visit pops?”

_“I might if I have time, but I don’t want to go too far from the island right now.”_

“I wouldn’t either if I was in your position.”

_“Are you doing alright there? No trouble or danger?”_

“I’m fine. I’ve actually been getting along pretty easily with them. You know I can’t talk about it much, but it’s not terrible here. One in particular is ridiculously impressed by my pistols.”

 _“They are vintage,”_ Marco said. _“I’m not surprised. They a gun enthusiast?”_

“You could say that.” Izou propped his elbow against the desk, setting his chin in his hand and looking down at the platter of food Lindbergh had brought for him. “I’ll go as far as to say they’re nice. I wasn’t really excited about waking up this morning, but rather than making me work, they brought me breakfast and told me to stay in bed.”

_“Huh. They’re more understanding than expected.”_

“It’s more touching when you consider the fact I haven’t mentioned pops or the anniversary at all.”

_“I guess they already had it in the back of their minds that you wouldn’t be very productive and are making steps to ensure your comfort and stability.”_

“I suppose so,” Izou hummed. He looked at the door before turning away and leaning down to whisper. “How’s the fire doing?”

 _“We really need a better code for talking about… that one,”_ Marco muttered back. _“I’m calling them next, but Deuce is with him, so I’m sure he’s fine.”_

“We both know that’s a lie.”

_“I’d prefer to call it wishful thinking.”_

“Sure, Marco, whatever you say. I don’t want to keep you too long. Call the kid, and look after yourself.”

_“Yeah, I’ll do my best.”_

“Thank you for calling, by the way. I actually feel a little better now. Might check out the library. The people here say it’s pretty good.”

_“Keep yourself busy, and call me whenever you need to.”_

“I will, don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to you later. Let’s both think of a better code name for the kid while we’re busy with our individual lives.”

_“I’m telling him you’ve been calling him a kid.”_

“Do it. What’s he gonna do about it? He _is_ a kid. Honestly, twenty-one is a child.” Izou muttered the last bit, but Marco just laughed.

_“I’ll talk to you later.”_

“Later.”

Izou hung up before turning to his breakfast with a renewed feeling of comfort and ease. He’d have to remember to thank Lindbergh later, as the food was extremely good. It almost tasted better than it usually did, which wouldn’t surprise Izou if his new companions were trying to look after him. This really was a better place than he’d been expecting. Maybe Ace would think so too, if Izou ever got the chance to tell him about it.

Rain drops sang as they showered against the pearl white ground outside the base. Lindbergh hadn’t been kidding when he said a storm was on its way, and it seemed to be going full strength now. The lanterns hanging in the hallways were lit and the corridors were almost completely empty. Those that Izou did pass on the way to the library merely offered smiles, but none of them tried to initiate any sort of conversation with him, which Izou greatly appreciated.

The library was more extensive than Izou had been expecting. Shelves had been built from floor to ceiling on every single wall. Every last one was spilling over with books on almost every subject that Izou could think of. It was a large area but felt decidedly homey with a number of couches and armchairs set up for people to lounge while reading or researching. A walk in fireplace was built into the right wall, flames flickering in the hearth. There was even a piano set up in front of a pair of french doors that lead onto a balcony overlooking the sea that was currently roiling from the storm, imitating Izou’s chaotic mood.

Izou wouldn't at all mind spending cold days there reading the days away, and figured many people had done so before. Maybe he’d get the chance to later, but his focus at the moment was on collecting a few interesting books and returning to his bedroom. Keeping himself busy and distracted enough that he wouldn’t think about his trauma was his priority.

It was night again by the time he looked up from the book he was reading, prompting him to reach over and switch on the lamp sitting in front of him on the desk. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but judging by how empty his stomach felt, he’d probably missed a few meals. After some debate he closed his book and rose to his feet.

No matter how bad he felt, he couldn’t justify using it as an excuse to not eat or take care of himself. If Thatch knew he’d skipped meals, he’d be appalled. Izou couldn’t find it in his heart to disrespect his friend’s memory like that.

The halls of the base were vacant and eerily silent as Izou paced along the corridors. No one was awake at this hour, or so he thought when he came up on the kitchen door and halted in his steps. It was closed, but a golden light was filtering through the cracks and streaking across the floor. Izou waited for only a moment before stepping closer and pushing the door open.

The kitchen was as big as the library with a lower ceiling, and completely empty save the one man sitting at a round table. A lantern was burning in the center, and the army’s Chief of Staff was sitting in front of it. A full glass of golden liquor was in his right hand, the rest of the bottle beside his arm.

At first it didn’t appear as if he’d noticed someone else had entered the room. It could have been the light from the fire, but Sabo’s face appeared harshly shadowed. The bags beneath his glassy eyes looked heavy, and the pale shade of his cheeks made him look physically ill. He looked exhausted and out of touch, tipping his glass from side to side to swish around the alcohol and watching the flame flickering gently behind the glass of the lamp.

His gaze was unnervingly empty and distant, like he was watching something happen that wasn’t actually happening — a replay of a memory that blinded everything else; a daydream. It had been days since Izou last saw the Chief, so he’d been wondering how he was doing. Judging by the fact he was drinking alone in the middle of the night, he probably wasn’t alright.

“Chief,” Izou greeted.

Sabo physically jumped in his seat, nearly knocking over the bottle of liquor from his shock. He turned his wide eyes to Izou, face growing several shades paler as if frightened by the samurai’s sudden appearance. It seemed to take him a moment to come back to himself and return to the present, recognizing Izou and relaxing back into his seat.

“Izou _-san,”_ he greeted back in a tired voice, releasing his cup in favor of holding the edge of the table, preparing to push himself to his feet. “Did something happen? Is everything alright?”

His voice held a hint of slur to it, and the bottle of liquor beside his arm was already half empty. Izou wondered if the kid had drunk it all himself, or if it had already been that empty when he pulled it out.

Izou tore his attention away from the bottle, waving a hand. “Nothing happened. I’m just surprised to see you up so late.”

“Oh. That.” Sabo turned to face the table, taking his drink back into his hand. “I had a bit of work to get done and decided to take a quick break. I actually didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

“I see,” Izou murmured.

Sabo glanced at him again. “Are you alright?” he asked unexpectedly, holding the other man in a stare that was almost _too_ understanding. “You’re awake late too.”

“I was reading,” Izou said. “Missed dinner.”

Sabo gave a single short laugh and waved towards the fridge. “Then you should get something to eat. There should be leftovers, we never throw anything out. This way you don’t have to cook anything. Help yourself to as much as you want.”

“Thank you,” Izou’s lips curled into a partial smile as he stepped further into the kitchen. “I’m not the most talented chef anyway. I’m afraid anything I end up making would be rather lackluster.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure your skills as a cook are leagues better than mine.” Sabo scratched his cheek at the edge of his scar, grinning sheepishly. “I’m a fighter before anything else, so it was always a risk letting me in the kitchen. When I was growing up they used to give me chores in here with Koala — just the usual prep work like peeling potatoes and washing dishes — but I’d get hungry halfway through and just start eating our food.”

Izou barked a laugh, lifting a hand to cover his mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise. “I don’t mean to laugh, I’m sorry.” He snorted. “Just… that’s familiar. I knew someone like that. We couldn’t let him near the food. Our head chef used to put the kid to work in the kitchen then come back later to find half the meal already gone.” He laughed harder.

The Chief really was similar to Ace in hysterical ways. Izou thought for an instant they may even get along if they ever had the chance to meet.

Izou wiped his sleeve over his eyes to dry the small amount of tears he didn’t want to show, then dropped his arm and paced towards the fridge. “Sorry. Just ignore me.” He pulled out the first thing he saw — a plate of _onigiri_ likely made from leftover rice and additional ingredients — before returning to the table to sit with the Chief as he ate. “Did I happen to miss you at dinner?”

Sabo was staring at his glass with a frown, bringing it up to his lips though he didn’t drink any of it. “No. I wasn’t in the mess hall either. I was working.”

“I see,” Izou watched Sabo closely as he sipped on his drink. “Have _you_ eaten anything?”

Sabo gave him a curious look. “Yes,” he said, but he answered so quickly that it was definitely a lie.

“Is working all you do here?” Izou asked through a frown.

Sabo shrugged before speaking. “I like keeping busy.”

Izou watched the younger man hold the glass to his lips and pour half its contents into his mouth before turning his attention to the food on his plate. “I suppose that’s a good thing. Just seems a shame that it should keep you from joining the others in the mess hall.”

“That’s something I choose,” Sabo said. “I like the work, and I like being helpful.” He stared into his cup before letting his eyes shift to the fire. “I like not thinking.”

Izou couldn’t tear his attention away from Sabo, eating slowly and listening closely to the revolutionary as he spoke. It seemed to Izou that rather than enjoying the work, Sabo just wanted a reason not to not think — he’d confessed as much. He overworked himself for the simple excuse that it would distract him from his thoughts. Izou could understand that. Empathized with it even.

He stood up long enough to find a glass of his own and slid it towards Sabo once he’d taken his seat again. “Mind if I share your drink?”

Sabo arched an eyebrow and set down his glass, picking up the bottle. “Sure.” He filled Izou’s glass before topping off his own. “You don’t mind strong liquors, do you? We do have sake here, but,” he smiled with a wince, “I make it a point not to drink that.”

“What you have out is fine. I’m not picky about what I drink.” Izou accepted the cup that Sabo handed back to him.

He raised it up and frowned against the cold rim as he watched Sabo down half his glass in a single mouthful. Additional proof Izou didn’t need that the Chief probably wasn’t okay. He kept taking small sips between sentences and pouring half the glass into his mouth when there was a good pause in the conversation.

Rather than pouring a little alcohol into the glass at a time, Sabo filled the cup almost completely. It almost seemed like a waste of time that he kept having to refill the glass since he kept drinking it so quickly. He’d probably save energy if he just drank from the bottle — but Izou wasn’t going to say that.

It was obvious that the Chief wasn’t doing well, and Izou didn’t want to exacerbate whatever was making him consume this much alcohol. People didn’t drink like that unless they were running from something, and if Sabo had been honest in his statement that he didn’t like to think, then he was probably running from his own mind. What better way to subdue someone’s mind than with excessive drinking, after all?

Healthy? Naturally not; but effective.

Izou found himself staring at the lantern fire with Sabo, recalling what Betty had mentioned days earlier when they were training at the shooting range.

_“If something traumatizing takes your mind away from you, the only thing that’s gonna bring it back is something equally traumatizing… the Chief’s mind is the epitome of wreckage. Whether every last memory returns or not, it’s not gonna fix what’s already broken.”_

That must have been why Sabo was drinking so much. Maybe that was why he’d been locking himself up in his bedroom instead of eating meals with the rest of the army. Why Lindbergh kept repeating that the Chief _“wanted to suffer”._

Maybe that was true. Maybe Sabo saw suffering as the only way he could escape the trauma already done. Self sabotaging himself by overworking and drinking excessively. As if he was trying to punish himself for some irreparable sin he could never be forgiven for.

Izou knew he had no right to ask for the Chief’s backstory — they were barely acquaintances at this point — but he really couldn’t fight the protective instinct that flared in his chest.

Maybe because Izou was so much older, or because he was used to taking care of his underlings. Maybe because in times like these, he thought about Kiku and remembered what it felt like to be someone’s brother.

Whatever the case, he wanted to be able to help the Chief somehow.

“You’re the kind of person who takes everything onto his shoulders without asking anyone for help,” Izou said into his glass. “It reminds me of another stupid kid I used to know.”

Sabo frowned, staring at Izou. There was something in his eyes that said he wanted to ask for details, but instead of speaking he turned his head down, busying himself with refilling his glass again.

“I don’t mean anything bad when I say stupid —”

“Well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” Sabo interrupted the apology. “I am pretty stupid. Koala says it’s part of my charm, though I think she means it sarcastically.” He snorted and lifted the cup to his mouth. “It doesn’t matter one way or another. How have you been getting on here? I’m sorry I haven’t been around like I said I would be.” His frown deepened. “This week ended up being not great for me.”

“Lindbergh mentioned that. He said you were sick?”

“Did he?” Sabo folded his unoccupied arm across the edge of the table, leaning forward and tilting his glass from side to side like he’d been doing before. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Are you feeling better now?” Izou asked.

Sabo didn’t answer immediately, drinking the full glass in one go. He set it down and reached over to the bottle for yet another fill up. How many cups had he had since Izou sat down? How many had he had before Izou even showed up? Izou was about to comment on how much Sabo was drinking, but thought better of it and stayed silent.

“I dunno yet,” Sabo finally answered. When he upended the bottle only drops came out — he looked decently upset about it, too. “It seems I’m only a bottle into it.”

“You probably shouldn’t be drinking so much if you’re ill,” Izou finally took the chance to comment, and Sabo laughed softly as he got to his feet.

“It’s not a huge deal. I’m always doing this.”

“Drinking when you’re sick?”

“Just drinking in general.” Sabo stepped over towards a cabinet, throwing out the empty bottle on his way to pull out a fresh one. “But don’t worry so much about it. We all have our vices, don’t we?”

“Drinking when sick?”

“I’m not sick,” Sabo defended as he sat down. “I’m… sad.”

Izou winced a bit as Sabo pried out the cork and poured a full glass of fresh drink. Izou watched him silently for a moment before daring to speak again — even if it wasn’t his place. Sabo seemed at least half wasted, so there was a slim chance Izou could get away with prying and nagging. “Why are you sad?”

Sabo held his glass in a tight grip, his head bowed and his wavy bangs shading his eyes. The frown on his face was heavy, and Izou worried that he’d upset the Chief more than he clearly already was. He was leaning against the table, shoulders hunched, body language displaying clear discomfort and stress. Izou was about to take back his question and change the subject when Sabo finally answered his question.

“Have you ever wished you could forget something exceedingly painful?”

Izou felt paralyzed by the question for a moment, but he did answer. “I’m sure everyone has memories like that,” he said, tucking his hands into his sleeves and folding his arms. “I know I have many. However, as painful as they may be to me, I don’t think I would willingly choose to forget them. Every memory, no matter how agonizing, is precious. Pain is what shapes us, and how we respond to it is what makes us who we are.”

“I see,” Sabo uttered, pressing his forehead against the back of the hand holding his glass up. “Then does it make me a bad person if I respond by drinking excessively and self sabotaging? That’s what Dragon _-san_ calls it at least. Self sabotaging I mean. He says I should talk to someone,” Sabo lifted his head to show off glassy eyes, raising his glass a fraction higher as if making a toast, “but this is so much _easier.”_

“That doesn’t make you a bad person,” Izou said, “though I understand why your boss would be worried. Especially if you’re his second in command.”

“I don’t drink on the job,” Sabo laughed. “I’d never do that. Just at night.” His head tilted to the side and he chuckled. “Just when no one can see me.”

Izou had long lost his appetite, holding his folded arms close to his chest and watching Sabo sway dangerously in his seat. “You have memories you want to forget,” he stated so the younger man wouldn’t have to.

It seemed strange considering what Lindbergh and Betty said about Sabo having suffered memory loss in the past. They said he’d remembered what he’d forgotten, so did that mean he wanted to forget again?

Sabo’s glassy eyes seemed to grow darker, the dim light making his cerulean blue eyes look like steel. “Sometimes. Most of the time I’m grateful. It’s just sometimes the memories make me sadder than other times.”

“And those are the times you drink,” Izou guessed.

Sabo shrugged. “Drink or work. Like I said, I don’t like thinking. Right now…” Sabo emptied the burning liquor into his mouth before setting his cup back on the table. “I feel it would be a lot better to not feel anything at all.”

Izou understood the younger man’s thought process perfectly. Just that morning he’d been wishing beyond wishes that he could stop feeling because the memories ached just that much. Talking to Marco had chased that all away and made it easier to finish the day.

Talking to someone who empathized and understood — to some degree — made things easier to deal with. Even if the subject was something separate from the topic of initial concern. Dragon said he wanted Sabo to talk to someone. Clearly he cared deeply and knew exactly how to help, but Izou knew that Sabo needed to make the decision to get help for himself. You couldn’t force someone to heal; but you could help along the process by offering the occasional distraction.

“May I ask something?” Izou started, and Sabo looked over at him curiously. “How long have you been with the Revolutionary Army?”

“Eleven years now,” Sabo answered, taking another sip of alcohol as Izou choked on his own drink.

“I wasn’t expecting that answer,” Izou admitted, clearing his throat.

“No?” Sabo chuckled. “Do I not seem like a senior executive of the army?”

“I just meant… you’ve got to be twenty or twenty-one now, right?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Then you were _ten_ when you joined?”

“Technically I didn’t join _officially_ until I was thirteen,” Sabo said. “Although I did join a lot earlier than most because I was already pretty strong. There wasn’t much else for me to learn with the rest of the general army, so Dragon _-san_ started to train me one on one when I was thirteen.”

“Wait.” Izou held his hand up. “You were trained by _Dragon?”_

Sabo looked thoughtful at Izou’s confusion. “Yes. Who did you think trained me?”

“I just didn’t realize he was the training sort.”

“He’s not,” Sabo admitted, “but at ten I was already too much for Hack to handle. The only way I could go was up, so Dragon _-san_ took me on as his only apprentice. I trained with him as well as with the former Chief of Staff and was entrusted with the future of the Revolutionary Army.”

“The former Chief,” Izou repeated, and Sabo hummed into his glass. “What happened to him?”

Izou didn’t consider that it could've been a sensitive topic until Sabo slowly set down his glass, looking even more miserable than before. He was quiet for a moment, hands folded on the table.

“Being a Revolutionary isn’t fun and games,” he said. “It’s not like being a pirate. What we’re doing has risks, but a lot of the time we don’t acknowledge those risks until they’re staring us in the face. If we’re caught,” Sabo lifted his eyes to meet Izou’s, “execution would be the least of our concerns. The World Government and the Celestial Dragons, before anything else, would want to make examples out of us. They’d want to keep us alive for as long as possible, to teach us all a lesson on what happens if we dare defy them.” He looked down again and reached over to his glass, wrapping his fingers around it but not lifting it. “Alive… but not living. Consider the worst thing that could ever happen to a living creature.” He shut his eyes. “That’s what happened to the former Chief of Staff.”

A chill of unease went down Izou’s spine, making him shiver and swallow around the lump in his throat, hands clenched into fists on his lap. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s fine that you asked. If you’re going to be working with us, then you need to be well aware of the risks you’re taking.” Sabo emptied his glass before pulling the bottle closer to refill it — Izou was starting to seriously worry that he may give himself alcohol poisoning. “And please be aware that if you ever change your mind about joining us, we wouldn’t be put out. We’d understand.”

Izou stared at Sabo, frowning at him before humming. He reached out to the plate of _onigiri,_ placing two on a napkin and sliding it across the table in front of Sabo. The Chief stared at the food looking genuinely confused before meeting Izou’s eye. Izou lifted his cup in a toast, smiling.

“I have no plans of going anywhere.” He nodded at the food. “It may not be my place, but if you’re drinking that much, you should also eat something; and please, I want to know more. If you’re willing to humor me. If I need to know these things, then I need to know them.”

Sabo continued to stare at the food before smirking with an exhale of breath through the nose that could have been a laugh. “I suppose you’re right. Though I may already be a bit too drunk to properly answer.”

“We can wait until tomorrow for the hard questions, but to be truly honest, I wouldn’t mind getting a little less sober either.” Izou flicked the side of his glass to make the crystal sing. “Today really wasn’t the best for me either.”

“I understand,” Sabo said, lifting the bottle. “There’s nothing stopping us both from getting drunk.”

“Well then.” Izou held his glass up for Sabo to refill. “A toast.”

Sabo set the bottle down and held his glass up. “To the Whitebeard Pirates.”

Izou felt taken aback by the comment before warmth filled his chest and a smile lifted his lips. He reached his glass out to tap it against Sabo’s. “To the Revolutionary Army.”


	10. Revolutionary Army — Part 3: Izou

Izou talked with Sabo well into the night over drinks and _onigiri._ It seemed to take a bit of time, but Izou could visibly see the way Sabo unwound and relaxed the more they shared stupid stories and pointless opinions. The only reason they had to stop was because Izou was falling asleep in his chair and needed to go to bed.

As much as Sabo was drinking that night, and considering he’d been missing from the mess hall during meals from the moment Izou had arrived, he really didn’t expect to see the Chief at breakfast. Shockingly, however, Sabo was already at the table when Izou entered the room the following morning. Nursing a hangover if the hand on his head was any indicator.

“Morning,” Izou greeted as he came up on Sabo’s left and pulled out the chair.

Sabo turned his head in his hand to look at Izou, humming his own greeting. His eyes looked glazed again, but from pain this time rather than the drink.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you for breakfast,” Izou admitted as he sat down. “How’s the hangover?”

Sabo snorted, turning his head away and lifting a mug into his right hand. “I have a good cure.” Izou felt a twinge of unease at the comment — he worried for an instant that Sabo was still drinking until he continued. “The doctor here has an interesting herbal hangover remedy. It’s not exactly the greatest tasting tea, but it works.”

“I imagine getting some food in you will be helpful as well.”

“If I don’t hack it back up I suppose,” Sabo chuckled into his tea, taking a drink before offering Izou a suspicious look. “Why aren’t _you_ bent over in pain?”

“Oh I don’t get hangovers,” Izou confessed, reaching over for a pot of tea sitting in front of him to fill his own cup. “I also didn’t drink as much as you.”

“Don’t get hangovers,” Sabo repeated under his breath, and Izou shrugged.

“I was a pirate for the great majority of my life. I’m used to it by now.”

“Hm.” Sabo had set his chin in his hand, elbow against the table and eyes distant. “A pirate, huh?”

Izou was starting to pick out the occasional silences that Sabo would fall into, and the look in his eyes when he fell into them. As if he was thinking hard, wistful and stuck somewhere other than Baltigo. He certainly wasn’t present in any way that mattered, and Izou was desperate to ask about it. He wanted to know what on earth was going through the Chief’s head, what he thought about to put that expression on his face. There were people filing into the mess hall and pulling up to the table before he got the chance, and Izou was quickly drawn into a conversation with Lindbergh.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Lindbergh admitted. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, no problems on my end,” Izou answered. “I wanted to thank you, by the way — for yesterday. I really appreciate the understanding.”

“Not a problem,” Lindbergh was already heaping eggs and bacon onto his plate. “You ever need time, take time. This army works because we can compensate for each other and support each other through not so great days.”

“Yeah.” Izou cast a quick look to the right where Sabo was silently staring into his cup.

He couldn’t tell if Sabo was listening or not, but he wasn’t reacting or responding to anything around him. It wasn’t entirely clear if he was ignoring everyone or just couldn’t hear until Lindbergh leaned forward to call around Izou.

“Hey Chief!” Sabo didn’t answer, so Lindbergh focused on where Koala was across from him. “Can you get his attention for me?”

Koala immediately picked up a biscuit and chucked it at Sabo. It hit him in the forehead with a _thunk_ before landing on his plate. Sabo didn’t react beyond picking the biscuit up and reaching for a bowl of jam, offering the karate instructor a curious, unbothered look.

“Yes?”

“Lind’s calling you.”

“Oh.” Sabo leaned forward to look around Izou at Lindbergh. “Yes?”

“We’ve got a meeting around noon to discuss that winter island with the boss,” Lindbergh said. “You up for it?”

“Obviously,” Sabo split the biscuit in half with a knife and slathered it with jam. “I’ve gotta be there anyway, remember. I’ve got most of the files.”

“I just wanted to make sure. You still look pretty tired is all.”

Sabo laughed. “That’s my default, Lind. Quit worrying so much, I’m perfectly fine.” He finished the biscuit in two bites and reached for the mug of tea in front of his plate as he added, “I’m always fine,” before slouching in his chair and hiding any other words in the cup.

He gave no room for argument, though Lindbergh looked the definition of unamused, and Koala was practically seething from the desire to call the Chief out on what was most definitely a lie. Or maybe he actually believed it himself — that everything was fine. Maybe he didn’t even realize that not sleeping, drinking excessively, and overworking himself was genuinely bad for your health.

Sabo remained silent for the rest of the meal, but at least he ate. An impressive amount of food was piled onto his plate before disappearing. At one point Izou could merely stare at him in shock, because the only other person he’d ever seen eat like that was Ace. Sabo was at the table first, and was the first to finish his food before standing to leave.

“See you all at the meeting,” he said with a smile, then left the mess hall.

Izou was still in shock, but Lindbergh was picking at his own food. “He didn’t eat as much as usual,” he said, and Izou turned to gape at him next.

Koala nodded. “At least we saw him eat at all.”

“Has he always had such an… impressive appetite?”

“Always,” Hack chuckled. “It was more impressive when he was a kid. Have you ever seen a ten year old consume a sixth of a massive sea king on his own? It’s a little scary. No idea where he stores it all.”

“The prick doesn’t gain an ounce of weight from it, either!” Betty exclaimed. “He and the boss both! Fuck ‘em!”

Izou snorted. “Yeah, I know people like that.”

“At least he doesn’t pass out mid-chew like Dragon does,” Morley commented, and Izou flinched.

_Ace is fine…_

He didn’t see Sabo for the next few hours, busying himself at the gun range with Betty before returning to his bedroom when she said she needed to get ready for their meeting. Initially Izou didn’t expect to be invited, so was standing at his desk going through papers, books and charts that various members of the army had given him to “study”. The knock on his door was so sudden that he jumped, turning to stare in surprise as Sabo cracked it open and slipped into the room.

“Evening,” he greeted, a hand lifted towards his head in some form of salute. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything important. Are you ready?”

“Oh, no, nothing, I’m… ready? For what?”

“The meeting.” Sabo pushed the door partly shut with the heel of his boot, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face — probably the first smile Izou had seen from him that didn’t look like plastic. 

“I didn’t realize you wanted me there,” Izou admitted, eyes wide. “I’ve only been here for a week and a half. Is it okay for me to be involved in something so important?”

“Yeah of course,” Sabo laughed, and Izou couldn’t help but think it sounded nice.

He ended up smiling with the Chief, unable to fight it off from how contagious the young man’s suddenly positive energy was. Izou didn’t know what had happened between last night and now to bring out this side of Sabo, but he liked it. Getting in a good meal really made a world of difference in people’s mood.

“Alright, if you insist it’s fine.” Izou shut the book he’d been holding and set it on his desk, waving to the rest of the mess there. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Maybe a memo pad for notes?” Sabo hummed, stepping closer to the desk and rifling through the papers, looking like he definitely knew what he was doing. “Not that you’re required to write notes. We have people for that — Koala likes writing notes. I like drawing in the margins myself. Drives her and Hack mad.”

“If it makes me more useful,” Izou decided, picking up a notepad. “I suppose I don’t mind keeping a record.”

“Don’t worry too much about being useful,” Sabo laughed, shuffling papers and shifting them aside. “I’ve only got one good half on me and I’m still capable enough to be Chief of Staff. You’re still whole. That makes you at least fifty percent more capable than me.”

Izou was prepared to inquire as to what Sabo meant when he said “one good half”, but decided he could probably guess for himself. The scars were a telling hint, after all. The silence went on as Sabo continued to look over Izou’s desk, just long enough to make things uncomfortable. Izou opened his mouth to say something, to break the silence with something witty, but Sabo beat him to it.

“Ah, there we go!” Sabo exclaimed, reaching for a pen sitting near the edge of the desk. “Knew you’d have something. Might as well bring it if you want to be a scribe, right?”

“Fair,” Izou admitted.

Someone knocked on the door then, and Sabo turned, knocking the photo of the Whitebeard Commanders off the desk. “Son of a bitch,” Sabo hissed, pushing the pen into Izou’s awaiting hand and stooping to grab the picture from where it had fallen. “Yes?!”

Koala stuck her head into the room and offered Izou a smile before directing her words to Sabo. “We’re starting in like two minutes, as soon as Karasu gets back.”

“Alright,” Sabo waved his hand at her. “Distract me some more so I break something else why don’t you?”

Koala shrugged with her hands, then winked at Izou and backed out of the room. “Make sure he’s not late, would you?”

“Sure,” Izou agreed, watching the door shut.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Sabo was apologizing, still down on one knee and picking up the picture. “It doesn’t look broken, thank heavens.”

“No, don't worry about it,” Izou said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Still,” Sabo chuckled, getting to his feet and dusting off the frame absently. “Normally when I do something clumsy it’s from my blind… side…” He trailed off, but Izou simply shrugged.

“I won’t hold it against you, and the picture’s fine, so —”

Shock cut off the rest of Izou’s sentence as he watched the framed photo tumble from Sabo’s hands, landing facedown on the floor with a telling crack. Izou felt a hint of genuine irritation and anger until he realized Sabo was suddenly having problems standing. He was staggering, tilting forward unexpectedly and catching himself on Izou’s desk before he could collapse.

“Hey, whoa, Chief?” Izou reached out to set the pen and memo pad back on the desk, holding his other hand towards Sabo. “Are you —? You’ve gone white, hey.”

Sabo’s right hand was clamped over his mouth, head tilted down just enough for his bangs to shade his eyes, but not enough to hide the pasty shade of grey his cheeks had turned.

“Chief you look like you’re gonna be sick,” Izou announced rather mutely, holding both arms out to catch Sabo when he turned.

Rather than falling, Sabo was able to maneuver around Izou, going straight to the window and throwing it open to keel over the sill and throw up into the roiling waves located a hundred feet below them. Izou quickly hurried to his side, letting a hand hover over Sabo’s back to grab him if he slipped too far out the window, but too nervous to touch him in case the Chief reacted badly.

Sabo was shaking, clinging to the frame with his head hanging low, coughing and heaving for how long, Izou wasn’t sure. Long enough that he was certain they’d be late to the meeting. By the time Sabo had thrown up everything that had been in his stomach, there were strands of hair stuck to his forehead and a sheen of sweat at the back of his neck.

His left arm was folded against the base of the window, eyes pressed into his forearm, right hand gripping the windowsill and gasping for breath. Izou kept silent for a few moments before backing up.

“Water. Hang tight a moment.”

“No,” Sabo stopped Izou before he could run to the bathroom. He moved from a hunched position to stand a little straighter, keeping an arm against his mouth. “I don’t need water.”

Izou hesitated to agree, but he couldn’t force Sabo to do anything. So instead he put a hand on the Chief’s shoulder, finally daring to touch him, and led him away from the window towards the desk.

“Come sit down at least,” he ordered, ensuring Sabo wouldn’t fall out of the chair before crouching beside him. “Is it your hangover?”

Sabo didn’t offer a vocal answer, choosing to merely shake his head. He was hunched over in the chair, with his right arm folded across his knees, left elbow propped on his left knee, and hand covering his eyes — holding his head up. His shaking shoulders were switching between barely noticeable quivering and wracking trembles that moved his entire body. His lips were twisted and pressed together so tightly they were white. In all, he did not look well, and certainly didn’t appear to be healthy enough to run an important meeting.

“Maybe you should see the doctor,” Izou said, instinctively reaching up to feel Sabo’s forehead for a fever. “You’re not warm…”

Sabo moved an arm to gently push Izou’s hand aside, standing up and taking a few steps forward. “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice was so monotone and dead that Izou actually found himself feeling uneasy.

He watched quietly from where he was still kneeling beside the chair as Sabo reached down to the framed photo he’d dropped. Izou winced at the clinking sounds of broken glass falling out of the frame, and the hissing that came from Sabo.

“Damn it…”

“It’s okay.” Izou stood up and stepped over to Sabo. “It was an accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Sabo murmured miserably. “I’ll replace the frame.”

Izou wanted to insist that he didn’t have to, but something told him Sabo wouldn’t listen. So he took the picture from the younger man and set it back on the desk, picking up the memo pad and the pen before turning to the Chief.

“Let me bring you to the infirmary.”

“Not necessary,” Sabo said quickly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m not sick. Let’s just go.”

“But —” Sabo was out the door before Izou could argue, leaving him to sigh and reluctantly follow.

They were late to the meeting as expected, and Izou wasn’t fond of the looks he received when they entered the room, but he couldn’t be surprised. Their Chief of Staff had entered the meeting almost twenty minutes after it started with the army’s newest recruit looking sicker than he had that morning — glazed eyes, tense posture, still trembling.

Izou was expecting to get punched by Karasu when the Zoan users' eyes flashed from him to Sabo and back. Izou could practically see the accusatory snarl beneath the mask obscuring his mouth and nose, making the lines between his eyes wrinkle in clear displeasure.

Frankly Izou didn’t want to know what everyone at the table was thinking about their Chief’s current condition and Izou’s part in it. Then again, he still wasn’t sure what had happened either. One moment Sabo was perfectly fine, the next he looked like he should be bedridden.

To his credit, he managed to get through the entire meeting. He stood at the head of the table for most of it, sifting through files and talking about a mission they were currently in the middle of. Something about liberating a starving country on a winter island currently under the clutches of a Celestial Dragon who had established a “vacation home” there? Izou was only half listening so he wasn’t sure, but Sabo looked moderately more pissed off when he started discussing the Celestial Dragon.

Izou had been so focused on watching Sabo — the pale shade to his skin that made him worry the kid might fully collapse at any moment — that he didn’t have the concentration to even try taking notes. Considering the situation, Izou felt pretty bad about it, but he couldn’t regret it for very long.

At the end of the meeting Sabo collected his files and muttered something to Dragon, keeping his head and eyes down as he left the room, far faster than he’d entered. Izou froze in place when Dragon moved his eyes to him, keeping him in his chair with a single look as the majority of the people who’d sat in on the meeting filed out the door.

“What the hell happened?” Lindbergh was the one to ask, and Izou winced at how devastated he sounded.

“He was fine this morning,” Betty said. “And I mean really fine, like the first good day he’s had in months fine!”

Koala focused on Izou. “He was fine when I went to tell him and Izou-san the meeting was starting.”

“So,” Dragon had his arms folded, dark eyes still securely locked on Izou. “What happened in that short amount of time to set him back four months in his recovery?”

Izou stared at the man wide eyed and shocked. “Recovery; what are you talking about?”

If it was possible, Dragon’s frown deepened, before he helpfully stated, “I see,” and nothing else.

“What did he say to you just now before leaving?” Hack asked, and Dragon shut his eyes.

“That he was going to lie down.”

“Ah.”

“Did you say something to him?” Karasu asked, and Izou grew even more tense and alarmed.

“I didn’t, I promise,” he said quickly. “We were just talking about the meeting and he got sick.”

“Sick?”

“Sick, physically sick,” Izou turned to look at Lindbergh. “I assumed he was nauseous from his hangover since he didn’t have a fever.”

“A hangover wouldn’t drop him,” Karasu argued. “Sabo’s too tough for that.”

“What happened before he got sick?” Koala asked.

Izou felt like he was under a magnifying glass, interrogated by a room of people who could likely kill him without breaking a sweat if they chose. He wanted to argue or raise his voice, insist this wasn’t his fault, but he was still a relative stranger to these people. He didn’t have enough rapport with them. They weren’t friends — they were barely acquaintances. The only reason they probably allowed him to associate regularly with the people who ran the organization was because he had such a reputable background.

It made sense that they were concerned about someone who wasn’t just their boss, but their close friend. Izou and the Whitebeard pirates would do the same thing, in that they would sit down a stowaway and hound them for information if one of their crew was hurt or unwell.

Hell, they besieged Marineford for Ace. Of course the Revolutionary Commanders would interrogate Izou for Sabo.

“He knocked over a picture I had on my desk. He felt bad about it, but —”

“The Whitebeard picture?” Koala and Lindbergh asked simultaneously, which made Izou pause before furrowing his brow.

“I mean, that’s the only one I have…”

“Oh…” Koala whispered, meeting Hack’s eye.

“I get it now,” Lindbergh mumbled, then got up from his seat.

“What?” Izou looked around the table. “It’s just a picture, and frames can be replaced.”

“Yeah,” Betty said in a sigh, standing up and collecting the papers in front of her. “He still hasn’t talked to you, has he?”

Izou held his hands out. “About what? The meeting?”

“That’s a no.”

“It’s not our place to intervene,” Dragon said, and Betty waved a hand above her head as she stepped around the table.

“I know!”

It wasn’t the first time someone asked if Sabo had “talked” to Izou, but it hadn’t been so nerve wracking before. Now, it felt like the Chief was supposed to have some sort of important conversation with Izou that was going to be very uncomfortable for both of them.

Sabo was avoiding it in every way possible, and no one else seemed willing to help out or jumpstart the speech. Izou wasn’t looking forward to it, whatever it was.

“If there’s something I need to know,” he looked between Koala, Dragon and the other Commanders still at the table, “then please, tell me. I don’t like being in the dark, and clearly this is something I need to be made aware of.”

“We think you should be,” Morley said. “We think it could help.”

“But it’s like Dragon said — it’s not our place.” Hack stood up from his seat with Koala following after him.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Koala smiled at Izou, who somehow felt even more worried despite her reassurance. “Sorry for putting you on the spot like that, we don’t mean anything malicious by it.”

“It’s fine,” Izou said, but he couldn’t help feeling absolutely terrible. Eventually he was alone in the room with Dragon, who seemed happy to stay right where he was, still staring at Izou. “If I instigated something, it was unintentional.”

“I know that,” Dragon said.

Izou wanted to ask why Dragon was staring at him like he was the next biggest bounty if he knew that, but held off. He probably wasn’t close enough to the man to talk impertinently without some kind of retaliation. This wasn’t Whitebeard, and Izou knew nearly nothing about him. He could have been a good humored guy, but Izou wasn’t in the mood to find out just then.

“If there’s something I can do to help —”

“At this point,” Dragon interrupted, “all you need to understand is nothing that happened is your fault. Sabo’s response, sudden illness, you weren’t the cause of it. This is something he’s been dealing with for a year. There’s not much any of us can do about it.”

Izou shook his head. “You said he was recovering. He was sick? He’s been sick for a year?”

“Not exactly.” Dragon scratched his neck, finally looking away from Izou to stare off to the side. “My Chief of Staff has been through a lot. He’s seen more than most, endured an incredible amount, and came out the other side stronger. It’s simply that the latest loop he was thrown through happened to be the worst. I have hopes he can get through it, but considering what it’s done to him already…” He trailed off and paused for a good amount of time before continuing. “I worry about the permanent effects. What we’re attempting here is very dangerous, one wrong move or misstep can be our downfall. If his trauma ends up one day being too much for him to handle, if it impedes his mission, then it could get him killed.” Another pause. “I’d rather he not die like that.”

“Yeah,” Izou agreed softly. “Just trauma then.”

“Trauma he’s still learning to live with,” Dragon said, and Izou nodded.

“At least I know that much now.”

Dragon was staring at him again, so Izou froze back up. “He will explain it,” he said. “If I thought I had the right to explain it myself then I would, but it’s a very tender subject for him. I’d feel as if I was breaking some form of trust with him, and I can’t risk that.”

Somehow that prompted Izou to smile, though he forced it off his face in case it came off as rude. “I understand. I’m sure everyone has trauma like that. I’ll try to be more aware of it, and at least I’ll be prepared next time.”

“You’ve no responsibility to look after him,” Dragon stated, and Izou snorted.

“It’s not about responsibility.” He collected his own papers before standing up. “If I’m going to be working with you, I have to be willing to work with you the whole way. I have to be willing to cooperate and make friends, protect my allies and aim for our common goals. I don’t have to, but I want to. It would be in my best interest in the end, wouldn’t it?”

“Hm. It would be.”

“If it’s alright, I suppose I should read these files,” Izou said, holding up the papers. “Unless you need me for anything else.”

Dragon waved a hand, sitting straighter and reaching for his own files. “No. I’ve said what I wanted. You can go.”

Sabo seemed to regress back into isolation after that. He continued to miss meals in the mess hall, locked himself in his bedroom for what he insisted was work, and didn’t maintain much of a conversation with anyone he did pass in the hall. When he happened to be in the same area as Izou he would offer the man a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but he didn’t stress polite greetings or small talk anymore.

He shared a plastic smile before disappearing for another day or two.

Izou tried to stay busy — studying, researching, training, meeting his new allies — but he was constantly distracted by what had happened. Though everyone insisted it wasn’t his fault, Sabo was just dealing with something, Izou couldn’t help feeling extremely guilty. Why wouldn’t he, if the Chief had gotten that sick when he was with Izou?

Maybe he couldn’t have avoided it, but certainly Izou could do something to help now, right? He used to aid a lot of friends through trauma, or at least he was able to be there as they went through it to offer support. Surely he’d be plenty capable of doing the same thing now. It may even conceivably be easier with Sabo. In the past Izou had dealt with pirates who’d lost limbs, been exposed to explosions, tortured by marines or other pirates, and so, so much more. Sabo’s situation couldn’t be much worse than that, right?

Another week passed like that, with Izou struggling to be useful while Sabo remained missing in action. A few times Izou almost asked someone where his room was so he could talk with him, but he always decided against it.

Drinking with Sabo had somehow shaken him from a similar low before, but Izou didn’t like the idea of the kid relying so much on alcohol — even though he knew he already did. Izou just didn’t want to instigate it more.

A few times Izou had checked the kitchen at night, around the same time he had before, but Sabo was never there. He liked to think maybe that meant the Chief wasn’t relying on alcoholic therapy, but there was no guarantee he didn’t have a secret stash in his bedroom.

Thatch used to keep the really good liquor under the floorboards in his room to keep people — _Ace and Whitebeard_ — from drinking it like it was commonplace rum. It was for special occasions, he would say (and it had probably burned with the _Moby Dick)._

The night of the tenth day after that incident, Izou was at his desk talking with Marco while flipping through yet another ruthlessly large file — if the World Government didn’t kill him, all this damn paperwork most definitely would. He said as much to Marco, who laughed.

_“Good to hear that.”_

“Oh, you’re happy I’m suffering?”

 _“I just figure it means you’re enjoying yourself,”_ Marco said in amusement, and Izou scowled.

“I feel like I’m in lessons on Wano again, it’s misery.”

_“Well… you’re keeping busy. Are they letting you do anything else?”_

“They’ve allowed me to sit in for meetings, which is unexpected. Evidently my insight is very useful.”

 _“That’s nice. Still no problems, right?”_ Izou paused, thinking back to Sabo, and seemed to stay quiet long enough to be worrisome. _“Izou.”_

“No, it’s nothing. Not really.” He reached out to the picture in front of him, feeling over the crack that now ran through the face — directly over Ace. “There was one thing that made my position here a little tense, but it’s better now.”

_“What happened?”_

“I’m told it wasn’t my fault, but… the Chief of Staff here ended up getting sick, sort of, when he was around me.” He held his hand up. “Which, now that I say it out loud, sounds ridiculous.”

_“Yes, it does.”_

“What I mean is that he’s low. Something traumatic happened before I got here, and he’s still working through it. All I figure is I triggered him somehow, and I feel damn awful about it, because he’s been locking himself in his room for days since.”

_“Ah; and this is their Chief of Staff?”_

“Yeah…”

_“You’d figure someone in that position could manage himself.”_

“This is different, Marco, he’s…” Izou pressed his lips together, thinking of the extensive scarring and the midnight drinking. “Whatever happened, it was bad. Imagine someone strong we know completely breaking and how terrifying that would be — imagine Pops or Vista breaking. It isn’t good, and even if I didn’t do anything, I certainly didn’t help.” He sighed, shoulders sagging. “I feel horrible. I wish I could do something, apologize somehow.”

 _“You won’t do anyone any good if you let the situation make you as miserable as him,”_ Marco chided, and Izou hummed.

“Yeah.”

_“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Whoever he is, he’s earned his position for a reason. Have you ever seen him fight yet?”_

Izou blinked. “No, I haven’t. Not yet. He’s always so busy when I see him, I don’t even know when he trains, or if he trains at all. Huh… but I know he’s strong. He must be, right?”

_“Don’t ask me, I know even less than you about this.”_

“Now I’m really curious about what he’s capable of,” Izou said, holding his chin and staring and the graphs and maps he’d pinned to the wall once he’d dubbed them important. “Maybe if I can get him out of whatever funk he’s in he’ll show me a thing or two.”

 _“You could always move in that direction by offering to show him your skills at the range,”_ Marco offered, and Izou sat straighter.

“Brilliant! He hasn’t seen me shoot yet anyway. Considering he’s in charge of the staff here, it should be a requirement to have my capabilities assessed by him directly.”

_“Sounds fun.”_

Izou dropped his hand. “What have you been doing?”

_“Ah, not much. I had to call Haruta and Jozu to stop by for a bit.”_

“What? Why? Did something happen?”

_“Well, yes and no. Vista contacted me a few days ago. Evidently he’s stuck, but he didn’t give me much information, ah… he asked if I’d come help him out. So I called Haruta and Jozu to take care of things here while I’m gone. I’m just waiting for them to get here.”_

“Do you need a second set of hands?” Izou asked uneasily — if Vista of all people needed help…

_“No, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. It’s Vista after all. I think what happened is he was following a rumor of where Hawk Eye was last seen and it ended up being bullshit, so now he’s caught up in some crap.”_

Izou relaxed in his seat. “Yeah that sounds like Vista. Do you figure he’s in prison and needs bail money?”

_“That was theory number one, yeah, but we’ll see.”_

“And you don’t need me to help out?”

_“No, you don’t have to worry, I should be able to handle it. Stay focused on what you’ve been doing.”_

“No problem, but let me know.” Izou lowered the mouthpiece when someone knocked on the door, leaning back in his seat. “Hold on a minute, Marco. Come in!”

Lindbergh was the one to open the door and slid into the bedroom, carrying a few books. “Good, you’re awake.”

“Yeah, talking with my former Vice Captain.”

“Ah, right. The Phoenix?” Lindbergh stepped closer to the desk. “Nice to meet you through snail! We’re taking good care of your samurai here!”

 _“Thank you for that,”_ Marco said, and Izou snorted.

“Did you need me for something?”

“Yeah, actually,” Lindbergh said. “How strong are you?”

“How _strong?”_ Izou gaped, looking at the transponder snail when Marco decided to answer.

_“He can lift me like a sack of apples without breaking a sweat and throw me a good few feet.”_

“You be quiet,” Izou said.

Lindbergh was shaking from the force of not laughing. “How did that situation even come up?”

“He pissed me off,” Izou remarked. “Why do you need to know how strong I am?”

“Is answering the question gonna piss you off?” Lindbergh asked, and Marco laughed over the snail.

“I’m gonna hang up now,” Izou said to Marco, who hummed.

_“Yeah, you seem like you’re busy. I’ll give you a ring when I get back from dealing with Vista.”_

“Good luck.” The transponder snail fell asleep and Izou set the mouthpiece up before looking at Lindbergh. “So what did you need me for?”

“Sorry if I interrupted an important conversation.”

“You didn’t, don’t worry.”

“I need you to help me out with something in the library.”

“That explains the books.” Izou got up from the chair, pushing it back to follow Lindbergh. “What time is it?”

“Pretty late. About midnight I think. Which is one reason I needed your help.”

“Why are you up?”

“Research.” Lindbergh held his books up. “For our next mission.”

“Oh, right,” Izou mumbled. “You’ll be leaving pretty soon, won't you?”

That was what all the meetings had been for, after all. Updates recovered from outside intel about a situation on an island there on the Grand Line that the army was offering their aid to. They weren’t certain if it would end in a war or be settled non violently, so everyone had been on edge as they prepared for every possible scenario. Izou was no stranger to war, and he imagined he would be helpful if it ended in a battle, but he didn’t expect to be invited along this time. Not when he’d only been there for a month.

“Why do you need to know how strong I am?” Izou asked as they entered the library.

Lindbergh led him over to one of the couches. “This is why.”

There was a lantern burning gold on the coffee table, which was covered in loose sheets of paper, maps, open books, pens and inkwells. What Izou focused on was where the Revolutionary Army Chief of Staff was fast asleep on the couch. The evidence pointed in the direction that he’d passed out while working, which made a lot of sense. Izou hadn’t seen Sabo out of his room in ages, and he’d never seen him in the library. Initially he’d assumed the Chief worked exclusively in his bedroom, but maybe not.

Sabo had propped his elbow against the arm of the couch and lifted his open hand to hold his head, leaning precariously sideways. It would’ve been too easy for his cheek to slip out of his palm, tweaking his neck or falling halfway over the arm of the couch and waking himself up. There was a file open on his lap and a pen sitting in his loose fingers, but he was dead to the world for all intents and purposes, breathing easy and letting out soft snores.

“Huh,” Izou uttered. “He’s sleeping. I never expected to find him passed out in the library, to be honest with you.”

“My sentiments exactly. I didn’t want to wake him up since he’s been so busy and tired lately, what with all the planning and… you know, other stuff.”

“Sure, but what do you want me to do about it? I don’t want to wake him up either.” Izou turned to look around the room. “Is there a blanket around here? We could just lead him to lie on the couch so he doesn’t hurt his neck.”

“He’d sleep better in his room, but I’m way too short to carry him comfortably without waking him,” Lindbergh explained. “His head and legs would be dragging on the ground and knocking into walls and shit. Everyone else was asleep so I placed my bets on you.”

“You have a point. I probably wouldn’t want to be sleeping in the open like this either.” He paused, then looked at Lindbergh. “I don’t imagine he’s the kind of person who gets very excited about people seeing him vulnerable.”

“Not really…”

Izou stepped closer to the couch and lifted the file from Sabo’s lap, dropping it onto the desk before taking the pen. “I don’t know where his room is. You’ll have to show me.”

“Yeah I can manage that.” Lindbergh assured.

It took a minute to get Sabo up. Izou worried about shaking him awake, but the Chief appeared to be completely out. Aside from a few murmurs and incoherent sleep talking, the younger man remained unconscious. Once Izou had lifted him into his arms and stood straighter, Lindbergh killed the fire in the lamp and headed back for the door.

“This way. Careful with his head.”

“I know,” Izou chided, readjusting his hold so Sabo’s head was cushioned against his shoulder rather than his arm. He turned himself and slipped through the doorway sideways to ensure he wouldn’t bump the Chief against the doorframe. “This isn’t my first time carrying someone.”

“Hope he’s not too heavy.”

“Not really.” Izou looked down at the Chief with a frown.

He couldn’t decide if the kid was underweight, or if he was personally just that strong. He hoped for the latter. The shadows beneath Sabo’s eyes were more obvious this close up, and seemed uglier beneath his left eye. The dark circles were set deep into the already gnarled and scarred skin.

Against his better judgment, Izou let his eyes wander over Sabo’s face to take in the rest of the scar. He’d never been this close before, so he had yet to really see the mark, but it was far worse when it was right in front of him that it was when looking from a distance.

From across the room it looked like an eyepatch of discolored skin. Closer, Izou could see the dips and bumps that clearly never used to be there. The skin was darker in some places, ranging from cloudy white, to pale pink, to a bruised purple. The scar even cut into his hairline above his ear, which Izou never would have noticed before due to how Sabo kept his bangs parted to meticulously hide as much of the mark as he could. The skin on his ear looked damaged and scarred up as well, and Izou winced at the thought he could be partially or fully deaf on the left.

Then again even if he was, Sabo didn’t seem very affected by it, and never did anything to make himself seem weaker or less able from it. In fact until that exact moment, Izou hadn’t even considered the possibility.

Though they were around each other so rarely that he never got the chance to really notice tics and hints that Sabo could be disabled in some way. Izou wanted to ask Lindbergh about it, but decided to keep the questions to himself. If it was important, they would tell him.

“They’re horrible, aren’t they?” Izou asked, flushing in embarrassment when he realized what he’d said. He jerked his head up to meet the look Lindbergh cast back to him from over his shoulder. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Sure did.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“Nah, you’re not wrong,” Lindbergh reassured, leading Izou around a corner. “It’s all pretty fucked, and the Chief knows that.”

“I doubt he’d appreciate me saying it though.”

“He’s not dramatically sensitive about the scar,” Lindbergh admitted, “but you can tell it bothers him when people bring it up, so we don’t.”

“I’m sorry…”

“He wouldn’t hold it against you, don’t worry. Here, this is his room.”

Izou only had a moment to appreciate the dragon image carved around the doorknob before Lindbergh pushed it open and led Izou into the bedroom, allowing him to pass before stepping back out into the hall.

“You can handle this from here, right?”

“Uh —”

“Just get him on the bed so he can rest comfortably.” Lindbergh grabbed the door and began shutting it. “Thanks for your help!”

Then he was gone, and Izou was left to stare at the door, mildly irritated. It seemed like the cat mink had dropped a massive responsibility on him, and that if he made one wrong move he’d be punished. He exhaled through his nose and turned to look around.

The Chief’s room appeared to be set up similarly to Izou’s, if not a bit bigger. The bed was to the left of the door, and the desk was pushed against the wall on the right. Sitting by the desk was a basket that was filled with tall, rolled parchment that could have been maps or graphs. The top of the desk was chaotic, covered in a mess of paper, files, books and newspapers.

Pinned to the wall above the desk were more maps that appeared hand drawn — possibly by Sabo himself — as well as a number of bounty posters and newspaper clippings that, upon closer inspection, all appeared to mention the Revolutionary Army in one way or another. Izou ended up staring at three bounty’s in particular, all with familiar faces: Emporio Ivankov, Inazuma, and Bartholomew Kuma. Two former prisoners of Impel Down and a Warlord. Izou had seen all of them during Marineford, but why would Sabo have their bounty’s pinned to his wall?

Izou turned to the bed finally, carefully lying Sabo on the mattress and holding the back of his neck as he settled the Chief’s head against the pillow. He paused there for a moment, hovering over the younger man and staring at his face. He reached out a curious hand towards Sabo’s face, letting it over over the scar for a drawn moment before curling his hand into a fist and standing straighter.

He wouldn’t want people to randomly poke _his_ scar without consent, so what gave him the right to go prodding at someone else's?

Izou cursed himself silently and turned to the bedside table where a lantern was sitting, reaching out to turn the flame lower and dim the light. He paused yet again when he saw the two books sitting there.

One was a published adventure journal called _Brag Men_ that Izou recognized thanks to Deuce. Izou had personally never read it before, but Deuce seemed to favor it and would rant for hours and hours if you got him drunk enough, so he knew about nearly every story it documented. It was a pretty popular book in the East Blue especially. It made sense that Sabo would be familiar with it.

The second book had no title, but there was a pen sticking out of it, so Izou assumed it was a handwritten journal that the Chief would document thoughts in.

The corner of a sheet of paper was peeking out from beneath the journal. It was an aged yellow shade and appeared to be yet another bounty poster at first glance. Izou couldn’t justify reading someone’s journal, but he did reach out to slide the poster from beneath it.

He couldn’t help his curiosity about this in particular. Sabo had no shortage of posters in his room, but they were all pinned to his wall. All accept this one. This one was the only loose sheet, and he had it right beside his bed. By using basic critical thinking, Izou could conceivably assume that it meant this bounty, as opposed to the rest, held some meaning to Sabo.

However when Izou got the paper free, he found himself feeling only confused.

It was definitely an old poster. The bounty was so much lower than it was now, and the man in the picture was wearing an open shirt with sleeves that hid the majority of that infamous tattoo located on his upper arm.

He’d stopped wearing those shirts after getting Whitebeard’s mark tattooed on his back, because he wanted to show it off; it was yet another sign that this was a very old poster. It must have been one of the first bounty’s he received, but where would Sabo have gotten something so ancient?

More importantly, why?

Why on the Grand Line would the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army have a 20,000 Berri bounty Wanted Poster of the Whitebeard Pirates former second division commander tucked beneath the journal sitting beside his bed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another apology for taking so long to get this chapter out. I'm not really sure what happened this time but this was kind of a hard chapter to write. No idea why but somehow I managed to finish before the end of the year which was my main goal! I really hope it came out well and that I didn't disappoint anyone! I'll try not to take as long to get the next chapter out but I can't guarantee anything. I might slip into another writers block lolz. Oh well.
> 
> There should be two to three more chapters in this arc before we return to the main storyline, I hope you don't mind and enjoy the ride! And I hope people are enjoying this peek into the RA and aren't getting tired of it. I know people are probably only reading this fic for the fixit, Ace, and DeuAce, but I wanted to explore the RA too. Sorry QwQ
> 
> Thank you for all your patience, I really appreciate it, and Happy Holidays! - penguin


	11. Revolutionary Army — Part 4: Izou

“I have a question,” Izou’s words cut through the silence, finally speaking after pondering how to start this conversation for days — ever since finding the old bounty poster in Sabo’s bedroom.

It had been hard to think about anything else for the past three days, wondering and guessing as to why the Chief of Staff would have it. In some ways it made sense that he would keep an eye on certain pirates, especially powerful ones like Ace. What made the situation strange was how _old_ the poster was.

Ace was notorious, his wanted posters were plastered in every town they visited, so it wouldn’t have been difficult to get a new one with Ace’s latest bounty and most recent photo. That would have proven more useful in the long run, Izou was sure.

So why did Sabo have an old one, and where had he gotten it? It must have taken a lot of time and scrounging around to locate a poster that depicted Ace when he was so young, just starting out and making a name for himself. A few less scars, a little less tan, and that absurdly colored shirt that Izou still assumed was the only one he owned. The thing was so ancient that Izou hadn’t even seen it before.

The first time Izou — or any of Whitebeard’s crew actually — had heard of Ace, his bounty was well past 30,000 berries, and the Spades were already on the Grand Line. Due to that, Izou’s best guess was that this poster in particular had never even breached the Calm Belt. Rather it had stayed in the confines of the East Blue where Ace had come from, which would imply that Sabo — or some other revolutionary — had travelled there, found that rather pointless and worthless sheet of paper, and dubbed it important enough to bring it all the way back to Baltigo on the Grand Line.

Yet again Izou had to wonder: _why?_

Initially Izou wanted to ask Lindbergh, but that somehow felt like a bad move, so he hadn’t. Instead he’d opted to wait for Sabo to shake himself from the sudden relapse in his mood. It had taken a few days, but eventually the Chief had dragged himself from his bedroom to again join the rest of the army in the mess hall for meals.

It was clear that he was still not entirely himself — those moments of eerie silence where his eyes were a little too distant and haunted were common throughout the day — but he was stable enough emotionally to handle his usual workload.

The more Sabo was out of his room, the more Izou found himself spending time with him. It almost seemed like the blue commanders were purposely creating situations that called for Izou to work with the Chief. Like they’d all gotten together and volunteered the samurai as the perfect option for Sabo’s assistant.

Their time was spent mostly on paperwork and a lot of planning; research and scribbling graphs and maps for this and that. Izou never expected the Revolutionary Army to be this obsessively organized. Every single possibility and situation had to be considered and fully assessed while planning for a mission, and according to Karasu, they’d been planning this one for a year and a half.

That’s what had led Izou to the library that evening, sitting on the loveseat across from the couch, the coffee table between them covered in… a mess, Izou decided. A fire was burning in the hearth and heating the entire library exceptionally well considering its size. Sabo had been hunched over a file, tapping his bottom lip with the end of his pen, and hummed in acknowledgment at Izou’s request.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, but it seemed like he was only half listening — he used the end of the pen to scratch beneath the scar on his face, his eye half closing; like he was doing it unconsciously and had no idea he was bringing attention to the startling discoloration of his left eye.

“Do Revolutionaries keep track of pirates very often? Or at all, I suppose I should clarify.”

“Sometimes,” Sabo answered, but still didn’t appear to have fully heard Izou.

“What would qualify a pirate to be watched by the Revolutionary Army?”

Sabo hummed, holding the pen more firmly in his grip to move his hand and rub at his scar with his thumb rather than the writing utensil. “Well, we keep tabs on all the Warlord’s, former and present. Their direct association with the Navy would imply they could potentially have a relationship with the World Government itself, and indirectly the Celestial Dragons on Mary Jois.” He lowered his hand, tapping his pen against the side of his file. “One you should keep your eyes open for is Don Quixote. It may take a while — a year, maybe two — but he’s definitely up to something.”

“Why say that?”

“There’s a family on Mary Jois with the name Don Quixote,” Sabo explained, and Izou frowned deeply. “It could be a coincidence, but… well…”

“What about the other Warlords?”

Sabo gave yet another hum. “Dangerous in their own right, but not a direct threat to our cause.”

“Okay.” Izou nodded his head slowly, then shrugged. “What about other pirates?”

“Generally we don’t worry about pirates,” Sabo admitted, turning a page in his file. “We have plenty to worry about as it is, and pirates don’t normally cause problems that affect us. They do their own thing, we work around them, separate and in the shadows.” He rubbed beneath his eye again. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that being in the army is pretty different from being on a pirate crew.”

“Oh yes,” Izou said in bemusement. “I had much less paperwork to sweat over when I was a pirate.”

Sabo shifted his hand to hide the smile, but it was hard to hide the little chuckle; jerk. “If it means anything, I appreciate you helping. It makes this go a lot faster, which will make our work more efficient.”

“No one else helps?”

“No they do,” Sabo said, finally lifting his eyes to Izou with a smile before quickly returning his attention to the file. “They have their own assignments, though. What we’re attempting is no small venture by any means. It takes all of us. We help each other when we can, but sometimes we’re short handed. Staff is off base for other missions, things like that.” He met Izou’s eye again with that same smile. “So I really appreciate how much you’ve been helping out the past few days.”

Izou felt somewhat flustered at the confession, shrugging offhandedly and quickly diverting the conversation back to his initial question. “What pirates do you — we — keep tabs on then?”

“Probably the ones you’d expect,” Sabo replied. “Mostly we just take notice when they show up in the papers. The current Emperors for example. They hold so much power over the sea and the people who sail on it, when one of them moves it causes a physical shift in everything around them. A ripple effect — a butterfly effect. When someone gets that big, the World Government takes notice, which in turn gets our attention. Anything that seems like a problem for them is something we want to be in tune with, so we can make our move at the right time.”

“Right, that makes sense,” Izou agreed, flipping through his own file before glancing at Sabo. “What about rookies?”

Sabo snorted. “Rookies demand attention. The latest member of the Warlords is the captain of the Heart Pirates, Trafalgar Law — a rookie from the North Blue.”

“Yeah, I know who that is.” Izou stared at the table for a moment, reminiscing about the end of the Paramount War; how the Heart Pirate’s bright yellow submarine had risen from the depths of the ocean to whisk away Ace’s little brother before any more harm could be done to him.

Maybe if Law had appeared just seconds sooner, then he could have saved Ace as well. Things would be so much less complicated if they’d just had a little bit more luck. A little more time.

“What about the Straw Hats?” Izou asked.

Sabo froze, the pen stilling in his fingers before it could tap the edge of his folder for the millionth time. He kept his head down, and his posture had become noticeably tight. “What about them?” Even his voice sounded terse and uncomfortable.

“Well…” Izou paused, considering the change in Sabo’s demeanor before powering through his next words. “Their captain is Dragon’s son, isn’t he?”

“Oh,” Sabo said with no inflection — just a dead tone that sounded suspiciously like self defense. “Yes, that’s… that’s true.”

Rather than question the drop in temperature, Izou continued. “It’s no wonder where he gets his sense of justice if it runs in the family, then. Straw Hat and his crew made messes of Enies Lobby, Sabaody Archipelago, Impel Down, _and_ Marineford… if any pirate has a tendency to shake up with the World Government, it’s _that_ rookie.”

A moment of uneasy silence passed before it was broken when Sabo went back to tapping his pen against his file. “Is there a question, or?”

“Just curious if you keep tabs on them as well,” Izou said. “Since he has a habit of getting tangled with the World Government one way or another, and because he’s Dragon’s son. I don’t know if it’s a rumor, but I heard he punched a Celestial Dragon and that’s why Kizaru was on Sabaody Archipelago.”

“I don’t doubt the legitimacy of that rumor,” Sabo admitted. “Certainly seems like something he would do.”

“Does it?” Izou asked in surprise, then furrowed his brows. “Do you know Straw Hat?”

“Huh?” The pen flipped out of Sabo’s fingers when he clenched his hand into a fist in response to the question, giving Izou a startled, wide eyed look as the file practically leapt from his lap and poured over the floor at his feet. “No, I —” he cut himself off and leaned over to collect the paper. “No, never… had the honor, um…”

Izou didn’t think he’d ever met such a terrible liar in his entire life. Though he supposed Sabo must have had a reason to lie.

“I see.” He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his kimono, watching Sabo closely as he sat back up and tried to organize the papers he’d dropped. “You know there’s no shame in admitting you know a pirate. I’m a pirate after all. You’re not ashamed of me, are you?”

“No, that’s not…” Sabo lifted a hand to scratch his head, lowering it to rub his left eye. “I…” He pressed his thumb against the scar just beneath his eye, shutting it and hesitating. “I can say with total honesty that I have never met Straw Hat.”

Somehow that did sound truthful, but it still made Izou wonder. Clearly Sabo was hiding something. Or rather he was skillfully avoiding something important because he didn’t _want_ to lie (probably because he was so terrible at it). Either way it was glaringly obvious that Sabo wasn’t offering the full story; but maybe Izou didn’t need to know it yet.

Still, didn’t he deserve to know why Sabo had Ace’s old bounty poster in his room? That was his crewmate after all.

“You keep tabs on the Emperors, so do you also keep tabs on their crew as well?”

Sabo seemed to relax at the question, like he was relieved of the change in conversation topic. “If it seems necessary.”

“That’s how you knew who I was?”

“Yeah,” Sabo confirmed. “Whitebeard — your old man — was a larger than life presence on the Grand Line. He shook the world with his very heartbeat. We knew as much as we could about him.” Sabo chuckled. “He had so many crewmembers and allies that we couldn’t possibly keep track of them all, but we knew of the commanders. Their reputations at least.”

“You knew Ace’s reputation too, then.”

The pen in Sabo’s left hand snapped in half and he lifted his head, looking over at the door. “What’s that?!” He called, leaving Izou to watch him, baffled. Sabo turned to give him a plastic smile that Izou was starting to recognize now as painfully fake. “Sorry, can we pick this up later?”

“I didn’t hear anyone.”

“My Observation Haki is pretty strong,” Sabo explained, shutting the file and setting it aside before getting to his feet. “Sorry, this might take a minute. I’ll see you at dinner, alright?”

“Yeah…” Izou agreed for lack of anything better to say.

All he could do was watch Sabo as he hurried from the room like there was a legitimate emergency he needed to deal with, leaving Izou even more confused than before, and worse: with all the paperwork.

* * *

Izou had two working theories. Either Sabo assumed that discussing Whitebeard and his crew would upset Izou and therefore tried to avoid it for the samurai’s sake — which was sweet — or he personally had some kind of connection with Ace and was too embarrassed to admit it for some reason. Both seemed like logical theories and made a lot of sense. However, every time Izou tried to bring up the topic of the Second Division Commander, Sabo inexplicably had something pressing to attend to on the other side of the compound. He would bolt out of the room like he was on fire, calling back that they’d pick the conversation up later.

Sabo was a good conversationalist so long as Izou didn’t try breaching that particular subject. He was a nice guy, had a good sense of humor, was very self aware and intelligent, so their talks were engaging and interesting. Izou just wished they’d be able to break past the small talk and discussions about the approaching missions to talk about things he was actually curious about. Without the Chief running away for once.

He didn’t know how he’d manage it, but he tried to go through all his options as he stood at the range with Lindbergh and Betty, who seemed none the wiser regarding his mood. Or if they’d noticed, they didn’t have any intentions of inquiring about it.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard footsteps, lifting his head from reloading his pistol to watch Sabo approach. The Chief acknowledged him with a smile before moving his eyes to the two blue commanders.

“Hey Lind, Betty, sorry to bother you. Did you guys finish going through that pamphlet Koala put together? Dragon _-san_ needs a follow up.”

“Ah shit,” Betty cursed, pulling the cigarette from her mouth and stumping it out against the barrel of her gun — which didn’t seem very safe. “No, sorry. I fell asleep reading it. It’s so boring!”

Sabo hummed, folding his arms as the smile took on a more devious edge. “I’ll be sure to tell Koala that.”

Betty turned to gape at him, alarmed. “No don’t. I’ll read it now.” She slung the strap of her rifle over her shoulder so the gun was settled against her back, sprinting past Sabo and leaving a trail of curses behind her.

“Lind,” Sabo chided the name like a parent scolding a child, and the cat mink froze from where he was hunched over scrubbing out the chamber of his gun.

He groaned and turned. “Well, I read it at least! Everything’s work!”

“Now, please, if you don't mind,” Sabo waved over his shoulder. “Make my job just a _tiny_ bit easier?”

Lindbergh pointed an accusatory finger at Izou. “Why aren’t you nagging Izou?!”

“Izou _-san_ already did his part,” Sabo explained, and Lindbergh gave Izou a betrayed look.

Izou could only point back at Sabo. “He made me read it. At least you’re not being surveyed while you work.”

Sabo dipped his head back with a loud, amused laugh that prompted Izou to smile in his direction while Lindbergh shuffled miserably towards the base.

“Can’t trust anyone on this damn island…”

“You’re the one procrastinating,” Sabo chuckled, and Lindbergh swiped at Sabo’s leg in passing. The Chief jumped out of the way, still giggling as Lindbergh huffed his way to the door. “Sorry for stealing your shooting buddies.”

“It’s fine,” Izou assured, closing the chamber of his pistol and waving at the now open area. “More room for me to move around like I want.”

“That’s a good point.” Sabo stepped closer, hands in his pockets and a curious light in his eyes. “I’m not much for guns, personally.”

Izou watched him for a moment. “That actually reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask. You said you were more of a fighter, right?”

“Yeah,” Sabo said, staring down the gun range and swaying idly — more for something to do than anything else, just to stay moving. “Soldier and strategist I suppose you could say.”

“What style do you favor?”

Sabo lifted his fists, grinning at Izou. “These.”

“You fight hand to hand?” Izou clarified, and Sabo nodded. “No weapons?”

“I have one, but I only use it if I really need to.”

“What is it?”

Sabo scratched the back of his neck, head tilted and a shade of pink on his cheeks. He mumbled his answer, and Izou lowered his hands to his sides.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“Ah, pipe, a pipe. I use a pipe.” Sabo held his hands out like he was holding a staff. “You know, one of those… made of lead or some other metal, I dunno. Found it in the trash and thought… yeah, this is good. This’ll be my weapon.”

His cheeks had gone from pink to a steady red blush, clearly embarrassed to admit what his weapon of choice was. Izou wasn’t going to undermine how Sabo fought of course, but he was certainly baffled at the admittance. So the esteemed Chief of Staff fought with a bit of disposed plumbing?

“Are you any good?” Izou asked, and Sabo hummed, shrugging his shoulders.

“Remember who I was trained by?” Then he lifted a hand to hold his chin. “I did tell you, right? A few weeks ago when we drank together? Or was that something I made up? I was pretty drunk…”

“No you did tell me,” Izou reassured when Sabo started looking uneasy. “That was real, that’s a real memory.”

“Ah, good.” Sabo dropped his hand, smiling. “So, yeah, I suppose I’m decent in a fight. I can hold my own at least, and I wasn’t promoted to Chief of Staff for my dashing good looks.” He waved a hand absently towards the left side of his face as if to say _‘in terms of dashing good looks, I have no dashing good looks’._

Izou wanted to insist that Sabo was very handsome, whatever he may think about his scars, but that probably wasn’t the point of commenting on it in the first place.

“Am I to assume there are some people who think you got your position unfairly?” Izou said, more as an assumption than anything else, and Sabo chuckled.

“Most of the revs are pretty okay with it, like the commanders as you know. Some, mostly front liners, people who work off base, and a handful of our allies, aren’t particularly thrilled about taking orders from someone my age. Doesn’t bother me all that much.” He reached up to tap his right ear. “I don’t think they realize I can hear them with my Observation Haki, but who am I to stop their gossip? We all need to relieve stress somehow.”

“Bad mouthing their boss doesn’t seem like the smartest idea,” Izou admitted. “Considering what this organization is aiming for, trusting each other is imperative.”

“I know,” Sabo pulled at his left glove, smoothing the hem that met the end of his sleeve, “but I can’t just command people to trust me. They have to choose that on their own. Anyway, so long as we can work together towards the same goal, I don’t care what people say about me.”

“I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable being backed by people who don’t trust you,” Izou argued.

Sabo hummed. “They don’t need to trust me for me to do my job. I can still take care of the staff even if they don’t trust me.”

That comment in particular put a bad taste in Izou’s mouth. What fool would happily sacrifice himself for people who didn’t even respect him?

Maybe someone who didn’t think he deserved respect to begin with.

Izou wasn’t positive what prompted him into changing the subject to what he did, but he turned to Sabo and held out one of his pistols. “Have you ever shot one of these before?”

Sabo seemed alarmed by the question. “I have, I’m just not entirely fond of them. They can be pretty loud.”

“Are you any good with them?”

“Eh, probably not,” Sabo admitted in a chuckle.

“Try it,” Izou pressed, holding the gun closer to Sabo until the Chief reluctantly took it from him.

He held it in both hands, brow furrowed and clearly uncertain. “I dunno…”

“You said you had haki, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Try coating the bullet.” Izou pointed to the stone target down the range. “You should be able to cut that in half if you do it properly.”

“I don’t know,” Sabo mumbled. “I mean there’s nothing wrong with guns, I just… they’re loud and…” he made a face, his left eye closing. “Hot.”

Izou felt frozen and like a complete idiot, speaking before considering the implication of his words. “Someone shot you…”

At least Sabo didn’t give any exaggerated response, turning on his heel to face the range and looking at the hill of solid rock that Izou, Betty and Lindbergh had been using for practice. It was littered in charred marks, bullet holes, a few impressive cuts and gaps in the otherwise smooth surface.

Sabo turned the gun around in his hands without watching what he was doing, quietly staring with that familiar distant expression — that look in his eyes that took away the shine and made them appear blind and cloudy.

“Technically,” he said, and Izou was surprised he even got an answer, “but it wasn’t as cut and dry as you may think.”

“Meaning?”

Sabo cocked the pistol without needing any instruction. “It wasn’t a bullet.” He lifted the pistol. “You said use haki, right?”

“Oh, yes.” Izou stepped closer to Sabo, reaching out to readjust the Chief’s hold on the gun and raise his arm higher. “If you can, but don’t feel too bad if you can’t. It’s a pretty complicated technique. It took me years to perfect basic haki, and even longer to perfect the ability to transfer it to my guns. See if you can manage.” He pulled his hand away once he was confident Sabo’s stance was correct, then took a step back. “Just aim and squeeze the trigger. Keep an eye out for the recoil.”

“I can handle the recoil,” Sabo said.

He pulled the trigger, and Izou had to commend him for keeping a grip on the gun as it recoiled and smacked him directly in the face. Izou jerked forward to catch him as he staggered backwards, but missed completely as his attention was drawn to the end of the range where the target was. Rather, where it had been seconds before. As the bullet impacted the surface of the stone, it shattered completely with a deafening crack, raining rocks of varying sizes — large chunks, pebbles and dust — across the pearly earth.

Izou gaped openmouthed at the completely ruined target, only turning back to Sabo when he groaned from the ground. He had one hand on his mouth, eyes pinched closed.

“I—I told you to watch the recoil, Chief,” Izou chided as he crouched down. “Are you alright?”

Sabo pulled his hand away and gave Izou a direct look. There was a deep cut on his bottom lip spilling a smeared line of blood down his chin.

“Please tell me I didn’t break a tooth.”

“A tooth? Look at your mouth!”

“Yeah that’s where my teeth are!”

“You didn’t break a tooth,” Izou said, hesitating and leaning back on his heels to look down the range again. “You did break that.”

Sabo glanced towards the target, then winced. “Whoops. My bad.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to just… disintegrate like that.”

“I think I may have put too much into that one bullet.” Sabo pressed the backs of his fingers against his lip before pulling his hand away and looking at the blood that came away on his glove. “That hurt a little.”

“Yes I’d imagine so. It knocked you on your ass.”

Sabo pressed his hand against his mouth again. “Really, is that what happened? I thought I’d been down here the whole time.”

“Your sarcasm is noted.” Izou held his hand out. “Come on, let me see how bad it is.”

Sabo hummed, letting Izou take him by the arm and heave him to his feet. He sat down on one of the supply crates stacked around them, then dropped his hand so Izou could see the cut on his lip.

“Am I gonna live, doc?” Sabo asked, and Izou snorted.

“Yeah,” he said, one hand holding Sabo’s chin and turning his face to see the cut better. “You may need stitches in there, it’s bleeding pretty heavily.”

“Just my luck, right?” Sabo said. “See, this is why I don’t use guns.” He looked down at the pistol still clutched in his hand, wiping his sleeve over the top of the barrel. “Gross. I got my blood on it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I can clean it later.” Izou took the pistol back from Sabo, checking over it before tucking it into the sash around his waist. He reached for a glass of water that was on the nearby table with a number of other firearms and boxes of bullets. All the rags and strips of cloth were soiled in oil and dirt and normally only used to clean guns, so Izou pulled the edge of his left kimono sleeve over his hand, pinching the corner and dipping it in the glass of water before setting it aside and holding Sabo’s chin with his right hand. “Don’t move.”

Sabo mumbled, and though he didn’t say anything directly, Izou could still here the comments of _“you don’t have to use your sleeve for this”_ and _“that’s gross”_ and _“it’s not that bad”._

“You better not apologize again,” Izou chided as he dabbed away the blood on Sabo’s chin. “Blood can be washed out, and you didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t always fight with those pistols, I used to be a swordsman.”

Sabo looked shocked at that. “Katana?”

“Yes. After joining Whitebeard’s crew, I started getting interested in guns. The first time I shot one, I wasn’t prepared either and did the exact same thing you just did.” He dipped his sleeve in the cup again, smirking. “I didn’t split my lip as badly, but the recoil made me bleed. It even left a scar, but you probably can’t see it through the _beni.”_ Izou noted the way Sabo’s eyes moved to his mouth, as if he thought he’d be able to see the scar even with the red stain on his lips. “Curiel told me everyone who used a gun had the same scar, whether you can see it or not. The mark of a sniper, he’d call it.”

“I’m not a sniper,” Sabo said, and Izou pinched his cheek.

“I know that. I’m telling a story, here.”

“Owe,” Sabo groaned, rubbing his cheek when Izou let go and returned to cleaning his lip. “So you got the guns you use from your crew?”

“No, they were made in Wano,” Izou said. “They were a gift I received the last time I was there.” He considered his next words, whether or not to say them, before deciding there was really nothing he had to hide — especially if he wanted to show the Chief he trusted him. “They were a parting gift, custom made and given to me by my younger sister.”

Sabo’s head jerked up to meet Izou’s eye, not seeming to notice how the sudden motion split his lip further. A fresh flow of blood stained his lips before catching at the corners of his mouth. “Sister?”

Izou pressed his sleeve against Sabo’s lip to stem the blood. “Stop moving, you’ll make it worse.” He reached for one of the pistols, pulling it free to show off the plate at the bottom of the grip where a chrysanthemum had been stamped into it. “I believe she commissioned them for herself, but when I told her I was going to stay with Whitebeard, she gave them to me instead. To remember her by.” He stared at the flower for a drawn moment before tucking the pistol back in his sash.

Izou pulled his sleeve away to soak it once more, staring into the water that had slowly begun to turn a rusted orange color from Sabo’s blood. The Chief sat silently in front of him, but Izou could feel the younger man’s eyes glued to him. After a moment, he spoke up in a soft voice, asking the exact question that Izou had been expecting.

“How long has it been since you saw her?”

Izou paused, taking more time than necessary to wring out the water he didn’t need before reaching up and holding Sabo’s face still to dab away the blood. His own lips had pressed together in a tight line, focusing on what he was doing and staying silent until he was sure the bleeding had slowed.

“Over twenty-five years,” he answered finally.

He expected pity or alarm, an expression of overused empathy, wide glassy eyes filled with unnecessary tears. Instead, Sabo watched him with something almost mundane in his eyes. As if he understood that getting blubbery on Izou’s behalf was pointless.

“You miss her a lot,” Sabo said, and really it was a statement — something he said simply so Izou wouldn’t have to. “Do you have contact with her?”

“No one has contact with Wano anymore,” Izou explained, and Sabo shut his eyes with a wince.

“Right… the Beasts Pirates. That was a stupid question.” When he reopened his eyes, Izou saw another question pondering just behind them, so Izou decided to explain further before he had to ask.

“My sister — me as well as it turns out — she was a retainer of the Kozuki Clan. All of which, from what little I was made aware of, were wiped out by Kaido when he invaded the country.” He pulled his sleeve back to check the cut again. “As no one can enter or leave the country… I don’t know if she’s even still…”

Sabo reached up to take Izou’s hand in his own, squeezing his fingers. His head was bowed, eyes shut. He looked like he was in pain, and not because of the gash in his lip.

“I know,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to say it. I understand.”

Izou hesitated, returning the comforting squeeze to Sabo’s fingers. “She’s strong, though,” he said, more for his own comfort than the Chief’s. “I’m sure I’ll see her again.”

Sabo lifted his head and smiled at him. “You will. You definitely will. One way or another.”

Izou nodded, releasing Sabo’s hand and standing straighter. “How about you let me bring you to the infirmary this time? You still need some stitches if you want that to heal well.”

“Okay,” Sabo agreed, standing up. 

They started for the compound, but after a few feet Sabo stopped in his tracks.

“I have a brother!” He blurted out. “A little brother, and…” Izou turned to watch him in surprise. “I h—haven’t seen him in a really long time either, so I understand on some level… how you must feel…”

He seemed to lose confidence the longer he spoke, trailing off at the end and dropping his head to stare at the ground like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. That was the last thing Izou had been expecting him to say, but it was the first time he’d ever gotten Sabo to open up on a topic other than the army. Though he hadn’t been planning on Sabo confessing something that personal.

“You don’t have to tell me that just because I told you about my sister.”

Sabo looked panicked. “It’s not a lie, I promise. I’m not just making that up to make you feel better, I do have a little brother. He’s three years younger than me, and —”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that,” Izou interrupted quickly, raising his hands. “I do believe you of course, I like to think I can tell when someone is lying to me. What I meant is you don’t have to confide in me about something like that before you’re ready.” He lowered his hands. “When you are ready, I will listen, but you don’t have to force yourself. That’s not to say I don’t want to know, because I definitely do. I just don’t want to know at the cost of your comfort.”

Sabo exhaled through his nose, walking until he was at Izou’s side. “The complicated thing with that is if I wait until it’s comfortable it’ll be too late, because one or both of us is gonna be dead.”

“Morbid,” Izou commented, walking at Sabo’s side. “Go ahead then. Tell me what you think you can today, and we can build off of it. He’s three years younger than you — he’s eighteen now?”

Sabo thought for a moment before continuing, arching his head back to stare at the sky. “Eighteen. I don’t even want to think about that. The last time I saw him…” He shut his eyes against whatever nostalgia he was experiencing from the memories. “Seven.”

“Seven years ago?”

Sabo laughed. “No, the last time I saw him was when he was seven years old. That was eleven years ago.”

“That is a long time,” Izou agreed, and Sabo chuckled.

“Eleven years isn’t twenty-five.”

“Well I figure time doesn’t really matter when you’re missing someone,” Izou defended, and Sabo hummed.

“I suppose.”

“Does he know you’re a revolutionary?”

Sabo gave a single cold laugh, shaking his head. “No. I don’t… he might not even know I’m _alive.”_

“Why not?”

“It’s… hard to explain. He either thinks I’m dead, or thinks I’m…” he trailed off and seemed to fight with himself before finishing, “still with my father.”

Izou felt a little confused at the comment, before the synapses in his brain connected the meaning. “You’re not blood related, I take it. You have different parents?”

Sabo nodded slowly. He lifted a hand to point at his face. “The day this happened was the day I left my home island, and... it’s complicated.”

Izou pondered a moment, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “Is he alive?”

“Yeah, yes, my little brother is,” Sabo answered. “Last I heard at least. He’s around. He’s on the Grand Line actually, I might… I might even run into him sometime… but I haven’t seen him face to face, or at all, in eleven years.”

“You haven’t gone looking for him?” Izou asked, and he didn’t think it was a bad question until Sabo turned his wide eyes to the samurai.

“I — it’s not like I don’t want to, listen — and if I asked, Dragon _-san_ would definitely let me so it’s not his fault either. I just… I can’t, I… I’m not ready.” He turned his head away, shoulders sagging and defeat on his face. “I can’t face him… not yet. I should’ve… been there for him, and I wasn’t.” He lifted his hand to his face, fingers touching his forehead and shading his eyes from view. “He must hate me so much. I’m the worst brother to ever exist.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Izou said, putting a hand on Sabo’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “And I’m sure he doesn’t think that either.”

“You sound quite confident,” Sabo said.

“Well, I like to think I know what kind of person you are by now,” Izou explained. “If you were anything like you are now back when you were a kid, then I’m sure your brother has nothing but good memories of you, and would be more than happy to see you again. Especially if he thought you were dead.”

Sabo looked hopeful at the comment, rubbing his left elbow. “He’ll probably punch me, but… I’ll let him. He has every right.” He lifted a hand to press a thumb against his split lip, the skin between his eyes wrinkling from the discomfort. “He could make me bleed worse than this and I’d insist he give it another go. Make me bleed twice, three times, break a bone or two, break my neck and my spine while he’s at it. It would be okay. I probably wouldn’t mind if he killed me for not being around. Yeah, I’d be fine with that.”

“Chief.” Izou used the hand on Sabo’s shoulder to pull him to a stop, both halting just in front of the door to the compound.

He turned Sabo to face him and reached up to tug his hand away from his mouth, watching as a fresh spill of blood made a fine line down his chin. Izou sighed, pulling his already blood-stained sleeve over his hand and pressing it against Sabo’s lip.

“Don’t make _yourself_ bleed while you’re at it.”

Sabo looked miserable, but he didn’t try to stop Izou from trying to yet again stop his lip from bleeding. “I’m sorry…”

“Listen,” Izou pulled the sleeve back down once he was satisfied, cupping a hand over Sabo’s cheek and pressing his thumb against Sabo’s chin just beneath the cut to test how swollen it was — it was alright at that moment, but it would probably go black and blue by the following morning. “Whatever the situation may be, hurting yourself — or making an injury you already have worse — is not something your brother would want.”

Somehow that only served to make Sabo look even more upset. His entire body seemed to sag and go limp where he stood in a blatant sign of dejection and pain. Izou was unintentionally uncovering wounds that went so much deeper and bled darker shades of scarlet than even the torn skin on Sabo’s lip shed.

Izou had managed to learn a lot in just a few hours, but with every question answered came three more he was desperate to understand. There was still so much he needed to know, so much he _wanted_ to know. Things that the Chief obviously wanted to talk about but struggled to get out.

He felt like he was getting somewhere at least. Sabo wasn’t running off like he normally did, and Izou liked to think it was because after weeks of working side by side, Sabo was starting to really trust him. Which did make him feel absurdly proud of himself, considering Sabo was second in command of the entire Revolutionary Army. How many other people could say they had this man’s entire trust?

Maybe now was as good a time as ever to inquire about the old bounty poster…

“There’s something I’ve been wondering for a while, if it’s alright to ask?”

Sabo shifted his eyes from staring at the ground to looking at Izou. “What’s that?”

“The poster in your bedroom —”

Sabo’s eyes went wide the same moment the door beside them opened. If they’d been standing any closer, it probably would have slammed into Izou’s face. They both turned their heads to see who’d appeared, and Izou tensed up when he realized it was Dragon.

The Revolutionary’s eyes moved from Sabo to Izou and back, as if quickly assessing the situation before speaking. “Betty asked me to inform you that lunch was being served.”

“Oh, excellent!” Sabo’s mood seemed to skyrocket at the mention of food. “I’m starving!”

He turned away from Izou, who dropped his hand from the Chief’s face and to his side.

Dragon’s eyes swept across Sabo’s face, seeing the obvious before commenting on it. “You didn’t have a cut lip when I saw you last.”

Sabo reached a hand up to his chin, tongue poking at the cut. “Izou _-san_ let me shoot his pistol and it recoiled on my face.”

“Ah.” Dragon gave a slow nod. “Why don’t you get that checked out before getting something to eat?”

“Yeah, fine,” Sabo agreed with a reluctant sigh, casting a smile back at Izou as he passed Dragon. “I’ll see you in the mess hall in a little.”

“Right,” Izou nodded, meeting Dragon’s eye when Sabo had gone. “That was an accident by the way — his split lip. It really was a recoil.”

“He’s never used guns before,” Dragon admitted, and Izou felt a little baffled.

“He said he had once. He gave off the impression that he’d used them but just never liked them.”

“He isn’t fond of them,” Dragon agreed, “so he never bothered with them. I suppose that proves he trusts you.”

“He broke a rock,” Izou said, and the grin Dragon offered in response made it worth telling.

“My Chief is exceptional in whatever he attempts. I’m really not surprised.”

“I was,” Izou defended, waving a hand towards himself. “I was not expecting him to disintegrate a rock. His haki is incredible.”

“Of course it is.” Dragon folded his arms. “Unfortunate that he ended up with a split lip, though.” He eyed Izou. “It seems he always ends up some form of injured when he spends any amount of extended time with you.”

Izou wanted to defend himself and say that nothing happens when they’re doing paperwork, but that sounded lame in his head and would probably sound ten times stupider if he said it out loud. So he didn’t.

“Sorry.”

Dragon shrugged and turned back to the hall that led deeper into the building. “Not my business, so long as he’s still able to perform his duties.”

“Yeah…”

“He’ll join us in the mess hall once he’s been treated.”

“You’re eating with us today?” Izou asked, shutting the door as he followed behind Dragon.

“I have business to discuss with the commanders, so yes. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

So he said, but he sounded very monotone and didn’t seem to actually care if his presence made Izou uncomfortable.

“Ah, no, not at all. Is it alright for me to be there for this discussion?”

“Yes,” Dragon said, and that was the end of the conversation.

Truly a man of few words.

* * *

The black sutures were stark against the irritated red and pale white of Sabo’s lip. Luckily he’d only needed a few, and it still wasn’t swelling like it probably would later, but the discomfort was enough to make it hard for the Chief to enjoy his meal. Which was a shame considering his usual gusto. He sat beside Izou and pouted as he cut the meat on his plate into tiny pieces, nibbling on them miserably where he normally ate huge mouthfuls at a time — very reminiscent to how Ace would enjoy _his_ meals.

Izou was interested to see how Dragon ate, and if his appetite was as impressive as the other’s from the D family that Izou had been lucky enough to meet. Rather than heaping food onto his plate, however, Dragon enjoyed a simple cup of coffee as he sat in the chair at the head of the table on Sabo’s right hand.

Izou felt somewhat irrationally confused by that — shouldn’t Sabo be the one on Dragon’s right hand — but decided not to comment. Considering what they were discussing, it seemed very unimportant.

“Betty, Lindbergh and Morley have business back in the blues to be dealt with, so they’ll be leaving before you,” Dragon was saying, going over a clipboard. “Allies there have been getting rounded up by breakaway factions that answer to Aigis.”

“What’s Aigis?” Izou whispered to Sabo, who was chewing on a fishbone.

“An intelligence organization. You’ve heard of the Cipher Pols?”

“Yes, but I’ve never heard of Aigis.”

“You wouldn’t have. They’re still fairly new.” Sabo spat out the fishbone, tapping at the file sitting on the table to the right of his plate. “They’re also known by us as CP-0 — Cipher Pol Aigis Zero. They work directly under the command of the World Government — the Celestial Dragons — and they’ve been hunting us like prey for a while now.”

“That sounds bad,” Izou commented, and Sabo gave him a tight smile before turning back to his food.

Dragon continued, unbothered by Izou’s whispering. “Karasu has no immediate business so he’ll be able to join you on Ankartia.”

“What about the situation at that port town near the Red Line?” Sabo asked, turning pages in his file to find the right report. “The Celestial Dragons were using it as a black market base for slave trading.”

Izou tasted something sour at the mention of slaves, but kept his mouth shut and occupied with his lunch as Koala answered Sabo.

“I’m the one who’s been collecting information about that. The government has managed to keep it underground and out of the public eye, but our sources seem credible. It’s especially worrisome because that’s the only port in the New World that did business with Fishman Island. If the World Government has taken control of it, not only will that business relation fail, the Celestial Dragons will more than likely take advantage of the Fishmen who may be living there.”

“We’re worried, naturally,” Hack grunted, arms folded tightly over his chest, “but we only have so much information in regards to how bad it is. For all we know, this could be a rumor to coax us out.”

Sabo propped his left elbow on the table, rubbing at his neck and leaning towards Dragon to discuss something in a whisper. Betty and Lindbergh were explaining their own missions to Koala and Hack as if to purposely drown out whatever Dragon and Sabo were talking about, but Izou was lucky to be close enough to hear what they were saying, even through the rest of the noise.

“If it’s slave trading, it should be a priority. The situation on Sabaody is already beyond our reach, we can’t let it get bad here too.”

“No, we can’t,” Dragon agreed. “It’s dangerously close to Mary Jois, though, so we need to be extremely cautious.”

“Right, but if we can take it back, even make a base there for ourselves, then it’ll come in handy in the next few months.” Sabo lifted a hand to wave it. “There’s only a little less than a year before the Reverie. Having a secret base so close to our target can only play in our favor in the end.”

Dragon was rubbing his jaw with a thumb, staring at the clipboard in his other hand. “Can you handle Ankartia with a smaller group?”

“Karasu is excellent on missions, and Robin’s already there,” Sabo said. “I think we should be able to handle it on our own. We’re aiming for stealth anyway, aren't we?”

“Hm,” Dragon lifted his eyes. “Do it then.”

Sabo dropped his left arm to the table and pulled his file closer. “Right. Hack, Koala, we’re going to switch your focus to the port town.”

Koala looked startled. “What?”

“Strictly surveillance, stay undercover and out of the line of sight,” Sabo clarified, and Koala pressed her lips together.

“I’m fine with that.”

“So am I,” Hack offered.

Koala made a noise of agreement, then asked, “What about Ankartia?”

“We can take care of it, right Karasu?” Karasu nodded and Sabo smiled reassuringly at Koala. “You and Hack will be in charge of confirming or denying the rumors and gossip we’ve been gathering. If it’s true, then we’ll have to do something about it, but this is important.” The smile fell and he leveled both Koala and Hack with a serious expression that had Izou freezing up. “Do not, under any circumstances, get too deep. You both know better than anyone how dangerous going undercover is when a slave trade is involved. This isn’t a request or a guideline, this is an order. Silent observation only. Stay in constant contact with Baltigo. Call once a day unless circumstances insist on multiple reports, and I do mean reports. Complete reports every day. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Koala and Hack said together, and Sabo visibly relaxed in his seat.

It took Izou a little longer to calm down. He hadn’t heard Sabo speak in that voice before, but it was a little scary; and a little impressive. The Chief was always so good humored — if he wasn’t miserably depressed — so Izou easily forgot that he was, in fact, the armies number two. This was the first time he’d ever heard Sabo sound like a leader.

Sabo wasn’t the kind of person to give orders out like a magician handing out cards. He didn’t take himself too seriously, didn’t hold himself higher than anyone else; he respected the people around him and treasured the input and opinion of every single member of the army. To hear him use that voice and give a direct order to the two people in the army he seemed closest to? It was startling, but it did make sense. Hack and Koala were Sabo’s close companions, not just soldiers from his staff. He wanted them to stay safe, so if he had to give them an order for that to happen, then he would.

“You’re welcome to leave as soon as you’re able, then,” Dragon said. “I’ll have a small fishing vessel stocked for you.” He then turned his attention to Sabo. “As for you and Karasu, you’ll be leaving in three days, or as soon as Robin informs us that the ice has broken enough to get a ship through to the coastline.”

“Great,” Sabo agreed, shutting his file and turning back to his food with renewed eagerness.

Dragon sat silently with his arms folded, seeming to be in deep thought, before speaking again. “Since Koala and Hack won’t be joining you, I’d like to send someone else to Ankartia to watch your back.”

Sabo looked up curiously, calamari hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “Karasu and Robin have my back just fine. What, you want to come along too? Getting tired of the office, old man?”

Izou almost choked on his salad at the disrespectful comment, but Dragon seemed unphased — or maybe he was just used to it.

“No, I’d like to be here to receive any direct calls from the commanders while they’re gone. However… I’m sure our newest recruit would enjoy some hands-on field experience.”

It took a minute and a casual thought of “I wonder who that could be”, but Izou eventually connected what those words meant. Dragon was talking about _him_ — as far as he knew he was their newest recruit.

He turned his head sharply to look at the army leader, mouth agape, uttering an intelligent, “Huh?”

* * *

While Izou felt a little uncertain about being chosen to go on a mission off base, Sabo wasn’t nearly as hesitant or worried. Rather he seemed more than willing, even excited about letting the samurai tag along as an extra pair of hands.

“You’ve been helping me prepare for the island anyway, with all the paperwork and planning. You’ll do fine.”

Izou still wasn’t sure, but he did as he was ordered and began packing what he would need into his drawstring bag. Mostly extra bullets, emergency non perishable food supplies, a notebook and a pen. He changed from his kimono to loose hakama trousers in anticipation of the snow, and was tying his sash around his waist when someone knocked on the door.

“Are you decent?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Izou called back, reaching up to his hair to undo it and restyle it into something more manageable that wouldn’t fall loose mid battle. He was mid-braid when Sabo opened the door and stepped into the room to join him, carrying something black and folded under his left arm.

For a quick moment he just watched Izou curiously before letting a smile spread across his lips. “That’s a new look.”

“I’m capable of adapting if weather calls for it,” Izou explained. “Wouldn’t want my legs to freeze.”

“Yes, especially considering this is one of the colder known winter islands,” Sabo said with a far too excited smile. He held out what he’d been carrying. “This should help. The cloak and gloves are both insulated, and it’ll be easier to blend in and hide your face when we’re in public. Since you have a bounty as well as a reputation of being a pirate on a famous crew, there’s a very real threat that you could be recognized. It would just put you in more danger if the World Government discovers you’re working with us now.”

“That makes sense.” Izou tied off the end of his braid before reaching over to take the folded cloak from Sabo. He held it by the shoulders and let it unravel, noting that the end would come just to his ankles — it was actually very nice. “Is it okay that I have this, though? I’m sure I could come up with a disguise.”

“Of course, keep it,” Sabo laughed. “It’s not just about disguises, it’ll keep you warm on the island.”

“The gloves are a nice style choice,” Izou commented.

Sabo tugged at his own left glove in response. “They come in handy. They prevent us from leaving identifying fingerprints, and it’s always nice to have something to keep us from losing fingers to hypothermia when we’re on colder islands.”

Izou swung the cloak around to hang it around his shoulders. “Good to know.” He tested the gloves then, pleased to find they were a perfect fit, and incredibly comfortable. He flexed his fingers, curling his hands into fists before relaxing them. “It’s really alright if I come along for this mission? I still haven’t been here for very long.”

“You would have ended up going on a different mission eventually anyway. This one should be a good introduction to how we do field work.” Sabo’s smile was crooked, drawing attention to the bruise that was finally spreading down his chin from his hurt lip. “You’ll do fine. If it means anything, I appreciate that you agreed to come along. Karasu and Robin are both great, but having another set of hands will really help.”

“If you were worried about being short handed on this mission, why insist Koala and Hack go undercover for something else?” Izou asked.

Sabo swayed back on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring up at the ceiling, his smile fading substantially as he hummed. “To put it simply… it’s because I knew that they — Koala especially — wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on Ankartia; not when there could be people on another island potentially being sold into slavery.”

Izou didn’t know how to respond, so he let silence stretch between them until Sabo met his eye and decided to continue.

“We can only do so much individually, and we’re stretched so thin already. We’re working a dozen missions at once, on both sides of the Grand Line and all four blues. When something unexpected comes up — like a black market opening up in a port town — we can only really afford to send one or two people at a time. It’s why the only one on Ankartia right now is Robin. Koala and Hack will go undercover and collect as much factual information as they can, and if the rumors we’ve been hearing are credible, then we can start planning a way to counter the situation before it gets worse — before we’re no longer able to help.”

Izou stared at Sabo for a long time, eventually shaking his head a little. “So your life consists of mission after mission after mission, over and over, trying to get a foothold over the government to the point where you’re capable of going against them directly.”

Sabo shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“That sounds so exhausting,” Izou breathed. “And you’ve been doing the same thing for eleven years.”

“I know it might not seem like it,” Sabo said, “but we _are_ making a difference. The Celestial Dragons are scared. If they didn’t see us as a legitimate threat, then they wouldn’t be trying so hard to stomp out that we exist. They tell the world that there’s no such thing as the Revolutionary Army. We’re a boogeyman that noble’s tell their children about to keep them from misbehaving. To everyone else, we’re a bedtime story to send kids to sleep with good dreams. We give people hope, and that’s a threat.” A smile broke across his face, something almost unhinged — made even more grotesque by the stitches in his mouth. “As long as the Celestial Dragon’s continue to hunt us, we’ll continue doing everything we can to screw up their day.”

Izou wanted to ask _‘why you’_ but swallowed the question down before it could leap off his tongue. He was a little afraid of what Sabo’s answer would be. So instead he gave a curt nod, accepting what the Chief of Staff said without any arguments.

“Well then.” He lifted his drawstring bag, hanging it over his shoulder and offering Sabo an expectant look. “I suppose it’s time to screw up their day once more.”

Sabo’s smile seemed to make him glow, and although Izou still had his doubts regarding how useful he would be on this mission, he was sure the Chief would tell him if he was doing something wrong. Otherwise, all he could do was trust his new allies and, like Sabo said, hope.

Hope that whatever they were about to do, it would be for the sake of the greater good, and actually make a positive impact on an island that was currently under the thumb of the tyrannical World Government.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't have this out sooner but I think the chapter is a lot better after rewriting some pieces. Especially the second half of the middle scene, that really need some tweaking, but I think it's okay now.
> 
> Some notes, I'm not necessarily good at naming things, so the island they're going to, "Ankartia", is kind of just the name Antarctica but super shredded up. No official way to pronounce it, just pronounce it however you want.
> 
> This is the last chapter of the Revolutionary Army Arc. The following Arc will be exclusively on the winter island, so I'll be calling it the Ankartia Arc. I'm not sure how many chapters it will be, maybe three or four. After that we'll be jumping forward in time to after the time skip and return to the original timeline :)
> 
> Thank you everyone for your continued patience and interest in this absolute mess, I hope this chapter was enjoyable and that you'll enjoy the next one (Robinnnnnn is about to make her appearance). Let me know what you guys think.
> 
> I hope you all have a happy new year. — Penguin


	12. Ankartia — Part 1: Izou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: nightmares

Izou couldn't stop staring at Sabo's hat.

During the past few weeks that he'd been with the Revolutionary Army, the Chief of Staff had worn generally the same outfit — black pants, boots that went over his calves, a white button up shirt with an open vest, and his red gloves; Izou had yet to see him without those gloves.

Like Izou had done, Sabo had changed clothes for their mission, though the general style was the same. The boots he was wearing had thicker soles and buckles up the front. The shirt was black and the vest was a dark shade of blue. He wore the same gloves, a cravat tied around his neck, a fitted coat that fell to his ankles, and the signature pipe that he’d mentioned before hanging at his back. What Izou couldn't stop looking at, though, was the hat sitting on his head. 

It was a black tophat with a pair of blue framed goggles settled around the hat band sitting atop the brim. If it was just half an inch taller it would have looked ridiculous. As it stood, it was the last thing Izou had expected Sabo to be wearing when they met up at the dock where all their ships were moored.

It was the kind of accessory one might see being worn by nobles or higher classes of people, so seeing a Revolutionary wearing it was a little bewildering. Although it would certainly keep the snow away, Izou thought.

Sabo was standing at the end of the dock beside the ship that had been prepared for their trip to Ankartia. Hack and Koala were standing with him, Hack searching through his bag while Koala stood in front of the Chief holding out a scarf.

"Stay warm, remember to wrap up if the snow is too high, watch how stiff you get —"

"I know, I know," Sabo interrupted, taking the scarf from Koala. "This isn't my first time on a winter island, and not my first time going on a mission without you two."

"I packed a few more wraps for you." Hack was saying. "They should fit your knee."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be careful." Sabo took his bag from Hack, stuffing the scarf into it before closing the flap and hanging it over his shoulder. He held his arms out to hug Koala, who squeezed him in a tight embrace. "You two watch each other's backs," Sabo ordered when they parted, turning to Hack in order to give him a hug next. "I'll see you soon."

Koala was holding her chin in thought as she watched Sabo turn and ascend the ramp to the deck of their designated sailing vessel. Her attention turned to Izou where he was crouching a ways away looking through his own bag. Their eyes met, and Izou felt a moment of shame from being caught eavesdropping.

He winced, but Koala didn't say anything to scold him. She simply stood there and waited for him to finish taking stock of his supplies before closing his bag and standing.

"Watch him for us," she said once he was close enough.

Instead of asking why she wasn't saying that to Karasu, he nodded. "I'll do my best."

"He may make it difficult," Hack warned. "Sabo is famously reckless on missions."

"We'll keep an eye on him," Karasu said from behind Izou, who physically jumped in surprise at the man's sudden out-of-thin-air appearance.

"Don't do that," he snapped, but Karasu merely peered down at him before passing to join Sabo on the boat. Izou huffed through his nose and smiled back at Hack and Koala. "Good luck on your mission."

The two karate instructors nodded, and Izou turned to follow Karasu up the ramp.

The small vessel that the revs had prepared for the journey was equipped with a double sail and a cabin that could comfortably fit the three of them. A small triangular red flag flew at the top of the mast, though Izou wasn't certain of its significance.

A number of crates had been packed into the cargo beneath the deck — supplies they may need on the island. Karasu and Izou were doing one last check through those supplies at Sabo’s request while the Chief stood at the ship rail and shared a few final words with Dragon, who was standing down at the dock.

“Stay warm, pay attention to your knee.”

“I got it, boss.”

“And your elbow.”

“I like to think I know how to keep myself moving on a winter island by now. I’ve got it.”

“I know your shoulder doesn’t usually bother you, but —”

“Dragon _-san,”_ Sabo drew the name out slowly, swaying on his feet and rolling his eyes. “Relax a little.”

Izou glanced over the railing when he stood up with his clipboard, finding himself at the perfect angle to spot Dragon’s less than enthusiastic frown. His arms were folded, as they usually were, and he appeared to be readying himself to say more. Sabo beat him to it, folding his arms across the railing and leaning forward.

“This isn’t my first time out without you or Hack or Koala, and I’m an adult now.”

“Are you?” Dragon asked incredulously, and Sabo’s lips curled into a pout before he quickly continued.

 _“Plus,_ Karasu, Robin and Izou _-san_ are going to be with me. Anyway you’re never normally this bossy when I’m leaving. What’s your deal?”

“You know what my deal is,” Dragon stated, and Sabo frowned, tapping his fingers against the railing like he was playing the keys on a piano.

“Hey, Karasu,” Sabo called back, keeping eye contact with Dragon, “how are the supplies?”

“Everything accounted for,” Karasu answered as he secured the trapdoor hiding the cargo hold. “We’re good to leave whenever.”

“Are we cleared?” Sabo asked Dragon.

If possible, the frown on his face got deeper, and he continued to watch his Chief of Staff for a moment before shutting his eyes. “Go.”

Sabo pushed himself away from the railing and paced over to the sails, waving a hand to Karasu. “Pull in the moor, let’s get going before it gets too late in the day.”

Izou watched Karasu as he stood straight, a number of crows phasing from his coat and fluttering to where the rope was tying them to the dock. The birds lifted up the mooring line and carried it to the boat, and while it was very interesting to watch, Izou had to wonder why the man couldn’t have just walked over and pulled the line in by hand.

_Bird Zoans…_

“Hack made a comment about your knee, too,” Izou noted to Sabo, standing beside him as he unwound the mainsail sheet from the mast. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine right now,” Sabo said. “It’s a long story, but basically my joints are about thirty years older than the rest of me. Cold weather isn’t exactly my best friend.”

Izou nodded slowly. “Good to be aware of.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’ve been living with it for most of my life. I can manage.”

“Well, let us know if it gets painful.”

Sabo rolled his eyes, waving a hand at Izou. “Sure. Can you take the helm and keep us straight? I’ll maneuver us to open water.”

Izou backed up to the wheel, holding the rudder steady with some difficulty as Sabo managed the sails and got them through the chaotic tides surrounding the island. He kept his blue eyes lifted to watch the way the wind blew the white sheets.

“One good thing about sailing as a Revolutionary: the wind is almost always on our side,” Sabo stated rather cryptically, wrapping the rope he’d been holding around his hand and tugging once, readjusting the sail in such a way that they practically floated along the surface of the water.

They bounced a few times against the waves before breaking through the tide and into the open ocean. Sabo tied down the rope, testing it to confirm it was secure before nodding in satisfaction. He then paced over to the bow of the ship, digging around in his coat pocket.

“Alright.” He pulled out what looked to be an Eternal Pose from the distance Izou stood at. “It should take about four days to reach Ankartia, so I hope you two brought some entertainment. Karasu, can you grab my bag for me?”

Izou turned his head to watch a crow pluck Sabo’s bag from where he’d dropped it beside the door to the cabin, flying it over to the Chief before returning to Karasu’s shoulder. Izou squinted at the man, but Sabo seemed unphased by his apparent laziness as he crouched down and began searching through his bag. After a moment he pulled out a scroll of paper.

“Charts?” Izou guessed, and Sabo shook his head.

“A map of the island,” he explained, unrolling the paper against the deck. “Robin sent it to us for assessment. Karasu can you take the helm?”

Izou stepped sideways, half expecting Karasu to send a couple of crows to handle the wheel. He decided to keep his sarcastic comments to himself when the man came up to take charge himself. He _did_ however send a crow over to where Sabo was sitting cross legged, where it perched comfortably on the Chief's shoulder. Izou joined them, kneeling on the other side of the map to see the map.

The map was well drawn and looked precise, with the name of the island printed in the top left hand corner of the page. Izou wasn’t an expert at reading maps, but the island appeared mountainous, and there weren’t many documented towns. Drawn around the perimeter of the island, stretched miles onto the ocean surrounding it, was a section colored a pale gray with the words “Ice Shelf” printed in the middle.

“Ankartia gets far below freezing, to the point where the ocean surrounding the coast freezes about three kilometers all the way around.” Sabo tapped the gray area on the map. “There is a point once every month where the ice is thin enough to break through with a ship — it's very romantically during the full moon. So we have three days to a week to get in, do what we need to do, and get out. Otherwise we'll have to wait another month for the ice to thaw enough to leave."

"That's not a lot of time to take down a Celestial Dragon," the crow on Sabo's shoulder spoke in Karasu's voice, nearly making Izou jump in shock.

Sabo, as expected, remained unphased. "We should be fine," he said. "Robin has been able to get a full or at least partial layout of the castle and the surrounding courtyard with her abilities. She has a base number of how many guards the bastard brought with him, so we should be able to form a plan around that."

"Is it an open courtyard?" The crow asked and Sabo shook his head.

"There's a stone wall. I won't know if I can break it until I get my hands on it, but Robin says it's a good few stories high."

"So he gated himself off from the rest of the civilians." Izou noted in a mumble. "How close is the town?"

Sabo went through his bag again to pull out a pen, leaning forward to circle an area just outside of where the port town was located. "The castle is here. Robin says she learned a bit of history regarding the structure that she'll have to discuss with us — we couldn't have long meetings over transponder snail unfortunately. What we do know is that this place is sacred to the natives. I don't know why yet."

"It's probably ancient, as old as the island," Izou guessed. "It's normally something like that. Perhaps it was a temple at some point."

"Yeah, somewhere the natives worshiped, or the home of a beloved leader long dead." Sabo tapped the deck of the boat beside the map. "Robin said the people aren't fighters. They're just innocents being taken advantage of. Fishermen, artisans, just trying to live their lives. Not fighters — not soldiers."

His face was drawn in frustration — the cylinder of the pen cracked under his thumb. Sabo was consistently riled up when it came to Celestial Dragon's taking advantage of people around them, and Izou definitely understood. Yet it always felt more personal when Sabo was talking.

Izou had been with the Revolutionary Army long enough to know that the majority of the members had a personal stake in their end goal. They wanted to take the Celestial Dragons out of power by any means necessary, and they all had personal reasons to do so.

Of course he didn't know everyone's reasons. Really, he didn't know anyone's, and that was fine. None of them demanded to know Izou's reasons, so Izou never demanded to know theirs, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about Sabo's motivations. Though he doubted Sabo would willingly confide in him, especially if it took him so long to grow comfortable enough to confess he had a younger brother.

Maybe his little brother was his motivation then. That would be a logical assumption.

Their first day of sailing went well. They took turns at the helm when steering was necessary, but for the most part the wind seemed to be sending them in the right direction. It made Izou wonder about what Sabo had said about the wind being on their side, but his intuition told him not to ask about it.

Izou noticed almost immediately that Sabo had changed into a completely different person when on the deck of the ship. His positive energy seemed to curtain over the entire vessel — Izou had never seen him so happy. When he wasn’t sitting on the floor with the map of Ankartia open, he was leaning dangerously over the bow of the ship with a spyglass. There wasn’t anything to see on the horizon, but that didn’t seem to deter Sabo from looking at where the sky met the sea.

He climbed the mast to sit at the top where the crow’s nest would have been on a bigger ship, jumping onto the roof of the cabin when he got bored of that. He flipped through books he’d stuffed into his bag, laid sprawled over the deck to soak in the sun, or sat on the railing with a fishing pole to reel in fish. They certainly didn’t need the extra food, so Sabo would free the fish whenever he caught them.

The Chief seemed more at home on a ship than Izou had ever seen before. It was a jarring change from the way he was on Baltigo, but not at all unpleasant or bothersome. Rather his good mood was contagious. Even Karasu seemed more relaxed.

Sabo insisted he take the helm for the night, volunteering to stay up and keep them on course while simultaneously keeping an eye out for other ships.

Pirate or navy, crossing paths with them would have been a problem. Explaining that they were Revolutionaries on their way to liberate an enslaved island from a tyrannical Celestial Dragon was out of the question. They would either have to fight or hope the strangers merely ignored them and passed by peacefully. Which was unlikely at best on the Grand Line.

Pirates liked to fight. So did the Navy.

In the end their best bet was to avoid the potential situation entirely, which meant constant supervision on deck. The first night, Sabo volunteered himself for the entire time.

“You should wake me up in a few hours to take over so you can rest,” Karasu tried to insist, but Sabo just waved his hand.

“Let me have my fun, you can steer tomorrow night.”

Izou didn’t try to argue at all. Sabo seemed so happy; who was he to try and keep the man from spending as much time on the deck as he could?

He woke up a few short hours after falling asleep. The gentle rocking of the ship was familiar — it would be after living on one for twenty-five years — and for a moment Izou laid on the mat he’d rolled out, completely still. He stared at the cabin ceiling for a drawn moment, wondering what had woken him, until the soft sound drifted in through the crack under the door.

Humming, it sounded like. Izou sat up, eyes widened to stare into the darkness. The pirate in him panicked, thinking there was a ghost or siren or something similar on the ship. Why else would haunting music be circling through the cabin? Izou wanted to jump up and announce they needed to jump overboard because they were headed towards a reef, or some other fisherman’s explanation for hearing strange music coming from nowhere in the middle of the ocean.

Then he recognized the voice and immediately calmed down, shutting his eyes until he’d relaxed before getting to his feet. He cracked the door open just enough to peer onto the deck. The helm was just paces away from the door. The moon wasn’t entirely full, but it was big enough to cast light onto the deck so Izou could see Sabo.

Still awake and leaning on the wheel, arms folded around the pegs. His back was to the cabin, but Izou could hear him humming. It did sound somewhat haunting, but in tune and rather beautiful. What really surprised Izou was the fact he recognized the song. Pirate songs certainly weren’t exclusive to just pirates, it wasn’t unusual for them to reach other people, even Revolutionaries, but _Bink’s Sake_ was an incredibly old song. Modern pirates rarely sang it.

As a matter of fact, most pirates these days didn’t sing much anymore at all.

So the fact Sabo was humming that one was a little unusual. To the point where Izou wanted to step out into the night air and ask where Sabo could have heard it.

He chose to shut the door and lie back down instead. If he interrupted then Sabo might stop singing, and his voice was terribly pleasant. Izou was happy to let Sabo’s humming lull him back to sleep. He could always ask him about it later.

Karasu was awake before Izou the next morning, already crouching beside the mast with his feathered cloak wrapped around him. The only thing visible of his actual body was his head sticking up from the neck of the cloak, like a chick hatching from a black egg. Izou snorted, then cleared his throat against his arm to disguise the sound before he could offend the man.

Sabo heard him, still standing at the helm and rocking back on his heels to cast a glance over his shoulder. “Morning, Izou _-san_!” He greeted enthusiastically, and Izou hummed.

He tucked his hands into his sleeves to keep them warm, stopping at Sabo’s left. “You could have woken me up.”

“Yeah but you seemed so comfortable,” Sabo laughed out. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t oversleep, it’s still pretty early.”

Izou looked off the bow of the ship at the sky. It was still gray, but streaks of sunlight were lighting it up a pale blue. Small white clouds splattered in random spots like water colors, which was a beautiful parallel above the actual water of the ocean.

“Hey Karasu, wanna get breakfast out?” Sabo asked. “If you’re not _too_ cold over there?” Karasu glared over at Sabo, sinking deeper into his cloak, and Sabo laughed. “Can you take the helm, Izou _-san_ ? I’ll get our _bentos_.”

“Yeah.”

Sabo brought a _bento_ to Karasu first, taking mercy on the poor man, then brought one over to Izou and took over the helm once more. “Sorry we can’t warm anything up, but you can have cold tea or coffee if you’d like.”

“No thank you,” Karasu said, his voice muffled.

Sabo steered the wheel with one knee, using his hands to hold the _bento_ and chopsticks so he could eat. “When you’ve warmed up a bit, Karasu, I’m gonna have you send a few crows ahead to see how the waters are. Let me know if we have any unwanted company.”

“I can do that.”

“I’m gonna take a nap after that,” Sabo spoke through his mouthful. “No fighting while I'm down, you two. Play nice.”

Izou looked up from his food. “I won’t fight with him.” He looked over at Karasu, who said nothing. Izou leaned closer to Sabo, confused. “Does he not like me? Did I do something?”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything,” Sabo replied quickly, but he wasn’t looking at Izou — he seemed very focused on his food. “He likes you, he’s just… you know.”

Izou, in fact, didn’t know, but decided to let the conversation end there. The sun had risen higher by the time they’d all eaten, and Karasu was on his feet moments later. Dozens of crows were phasing from his cloak and flying into the air, going in every direction.

Sabo was leaning against the helm, arms folded. “You’re supposed to wait an hour after eating before flying.”

“That’s just a myth,” Karasu argued, and Sabo arched an eyebrow.

“You better not drop midair. It’s all ocean for the next few days, and if you’re too far out we’re not gonna be able to get to you in time.”

“I’m not gonna drop,” Karasu mumbled; by that point he was just shoulders and a head surrounded by crows and feathers. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Stay safe.” Sabo waved, and Karasu was gone.

One crow stayed, hopping down the railing towards the bow before going back towards the stern, as if guarding the ship. Izou stayed leaning against the railing with his arms folded as he watched the other crows disappear. After a silent moment he turned to face Sabo, who’d straightened up and was rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Can I ask you some—” A loud squawk made Izou jump, jerking forward when Karasu’s crow pecked at his elbow. Izou watched it hop across the railing, rubbing his arm and glaring at the bird as it passed.

“What’s that?” Sabo asked, and Izou turned back to him.

He decided not to lean back against the railing. The peck didn’t necessarily hurt, but it was still annoying.

“I said could I ask you something?” Izou repeated.

“Yeah go ahead,” Sabo said through a yawn.

Izou considered maybe waiting to ask this since Sabo was so tired — he’d been awake the whole night — but decided to try his luck. “Last night you were singing an old pirate song. I mean a _really_ old one. I was wondering where you heard it? I don’t know of many new crews that indulge in music actually.”

“Oh, no, I heard it from my little brother.” Sabo yawned again. “He used to sing it a lot. Not well, mind you, he mostly screamed it. Normally at night when we were trying to sleep.”

“Oh,” Izou uttered in surprise. “Where did your little brother hear it?”

“He heard it from an actual pirate, liked it, got stuck in his head and now it’s stuck in my head.” Sabo looked like he was falling asleep at the wheel.

Izou stepped over to join him, reaching out to take the helm and putting his other hand on Sabo’s shoulder. “You’re falling asleep standing up, Chief. Go lie down.”

“I can't until Karasu gets back.”

“Do you not trust me to watch the ship while you’re sleeping?” Izou asked in a teasing voice, not expecting the startled expression Sabo gave him. “That was a joke. I understand you’re just trying to be responsible because you’re the Chief of Staff. This is why I’m here though, isn’t it? Karasu and I both can take care of things while you get some sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like I didn’t trust you…”

“You didn’t, I was just teasing you! Maybe that was mean to do when you’re tired.” Izou nudged him towards the cabin door. “Come on, go to sleep. It wouldn’t be very responsible to work yourself to exhaustion when our mission’s barely begun.”

Sabo sighed, dragging his feet towards the door. “I know.” he turned to level Izou with unfocused eyes. “Let Karasu know I went to sleep; and don’t let me sleep too long. I’m grumpy when I miss lunch.”

Izou barked a laugh. “Yes, sir.”

When Karasu did return to his solid form on the ship, he looked back and forth curiously. “Where’s the Chief?”

“Went to bed,” Izou answered from the helm. “Did everything look okay?”

“Fine,” Karasu answered, then shifted into a murder of crows yet again for the sole purpose of flying onto the roof of the cabin. He then solidified and sat with his back to Izou.

Not interested in any conversation, it seemed. That was fine.

Their second day sailing went as well as their first. Sabo woke up a little before lunchtime and settled cross legged at the bow of the ship with his back to the railing so he could face the rest of the deck. He ate lunch before spending a few hours memorizing the map and flipping through what looked like a notebook from a distance. Izou recognized it as the one that he’d seen on Sabo’s bedside table. He wondered for an instant if Sabo had brought Ace’s old bounty with him, but that was ridiculous. Why would he do that?

Sabo was probably going over the specs of the mission; reading and rereading the plan until every detail and possible scenario had been planted meticulously in his head.

That night Karasu shared the helm with Sabo. Sabo took the first shift — he insisted — and Karasu took the second. Sabo had tried to take on the whole night alone again, but Karasu wouldn’t back down about it.

“You were too tired this morning.”

Even so, Sabo didn’t sleep in the cabin. After letting Karasu take the helm, he climbed onto the roof of the cabin to sleep out in the open under the stars. Izou couldn’t blame him. The night sky on the ocean was breathtaking — peaceful. It was always nice to fall asleep stargazing. Izou didn’t think there was a problem with it until the following morning.

Izou took the helm from Karasu so he could eat breakfast and take a nap. The tired Bird Zoan was huddled against the mast when Sabo woke up and jumped from the roof to the deck. He must have landed wrong, because his leg went out from under him and he collapsed onto his back with a grunt.

“I’m fine!” Sabo called before Karasu could stand up.

Izou held the wheel with one hand as he took a step towards Sabo, watching him sit up and reach for his knee with a wince.

“Did you jar your bad leg?”

“Huh?” Sabo lifted his head to meet Izou's eye, looking embarrassed. “No, my knee is just a little stiff.”

Izou considered that before speaking. “It was cold last night. You said your scars got painful when it got cold.” Sabo winced again, but it was more a reaction from being scolded than from pain. “You should sleep inside tonight.”

“I’m fine,” Sabo insisted, standing up and shifting from one foot to the other. “See? No problem.”

“You should still sleep inside,” Karasu said, pacing over to join them at the helm. “We’re going to be on a winter island for a week at best — maybe longer. If your leg starts to bother you now because you’re sleeping in the cold —”

“Oh alright, alright, jeeze,” Sabo sighed, shoulders sagging. “Damn you can be naggy.”

“I’m taking over for Koala while she’s not here,” Karasu explained, and Sabo turned to him.

“You got jokes now, huh?” He pointed at the cabin door. “Go to bed.”

Karasu made a noise that _could have been_ laughter, but Izou couldn’t tell through the mask. He shuffled back over to the mast and planted himself into a heap of black feathers. His closed eyes were the only indicator that he was sleeping.

"I already brought your food out for you," Izou informed as he straightened at the helm. He waved towards the _bento_ box sitting on a crate beside the cabin door.

Sabo lit up. Izou pretended not to see him limp as he headed towards the food. He sat cross legged on the crate as he ate his meal and flipped through his notebook for the hundredth time.

They traveled in silence for a time, until Sabo hopped to his feet and stood beside Izou with the Log Pose in hand.

"Eternal Pose says we're on the right track," he informed, and Izou nodded.

He glanced up at the sails, just to be certain the wind was going against them and pushing them in the right direction. "Great to hear. Weather is getting colder too, which is another good sign."

"We'll probably start seeing snow today or tomorrow." Sabo returned the Pose to his pocket but kept his journal out. "If the wind keeps up — it probably will — then we should reach the edge of the Ice Shelf by tomorrow afternoon."

"You really know your stuff, don't you?" Izou asked, genuinely impressed. "You can sail, you can navigate, you can read maps."

"I can make 'em too," Sabo said proudly, folding his arms. "They're necessary skills to know. I've always been interested in all of it, navigation and such. Did I tell you I was gonna be a pirate when I was younger?"

"No, you didn't mention that…"

"Yeah. When I was really small we used to talk about it all the time. Leaving our island and being pirates." He lifted a hand to tap the edge of the scar on his face. "Unexpected circumstances led me in another direction of course, but I kept my interest in navigation." He smiled at Izou. "You've got a good handle on this stuff too."

"I actually _was_ a pirate," Izou reminded. "Learning it was, as you said, a necessity. We always had navigators, so the best I can do is handle the helm. I wouldn't be able to predict weather or sea conditions like you."

"Well that stuff is guesswork," Sabo defended. "I'm not a weatherman."

"Who taught you navigation and cartography?" Izou asked, and Karasu whipped his head in their direction so fast Izou almost tipped backwards.

Sabo didn't seem to have noticed, scratching his neck and staring at the sky. "The Chief of Staff did. The one before me I mean."

Izou winced, meeting Karasu's irritated glare. "Oh…"

"Dragon _-san_ taught me a bit of sailing, how to catch the wind and such, but navigation and maps and charts — that stuff I learned from the Chief."

"So it's just a Chief of Staff thing."

Sabo laughed. Izou looked back at Karasu as if to say _"see he's fine I didn't trigger him this time stop glaring at me"._

Karasu stood up and Sabo stopped laughing to watch. "Are we keeping you awake? Go sleep inside."

Karasu grunted in response, clapping a hand on Sabo's shoulder as he passed by. The cabin door shut behind him, and Izou was left alone with Sabo once more.

The hours that followed were uneventful at best. No ships crossed their path, the wind stayed steady at their port to push them on. All they had to do was steer the ship in the right direction. It was almost unnatural. Izou would have expected the wind to have died down or at least hold a touch of cold considering where they were going, but it stayed strong and warm the entire time.

Near midday when Karasu came back out, the still air had gone icy. The sky had filled with swirling gray clouds, and Izou could feel frost building up on his eyelashes and the strands of hair hanging in his face.

“We’ve entered the island’s weather system now,” Sabo was explaining, digging through his bag and pulling out what looked like a cloth brace.

It was similar to the orange elbow guard that Ace was always wearing. Sabo sat on a crate and secured the wrap around his left knee. When he stood up and pulled on his coat, the bottom fell down to his ankles, hiding the brace from view. That was probably a good thing. They didn’t need their enemies exploiting a potential weakness, and Izou didn’t want to see Sabo getting hurt because of it.

Izou let Karasu take the helm so he could retrieve his own cloak and the gloves Sabo had given him. Growing up in Ringo, he was used to the cold, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He could acknowledge the beauty of the snowflakes that drifted down slowly on the wind, but the stark white that landed on his outstretched palm made his head ache with memory.

_Cold snow, damp kimono, a tiny form shivering in his arms._

_Tears soaking his neck that were so much hotter than the air around him that they burned._

_Fingertips so cold he couldn’t feel them, colored blue and trembling as ice formed under his nails._

_Damn; he still couldn’t really feel them._

The gloves were warm, though — comfortable.

“Izou _-san.”_

Izou lifted his head, blinking away the memories to meet Sabo’s eye. He was frowning, but smiled when he had Izou’s attention, holding out Izou’s pre-prepared dinner _bento_. Izou took it from him with a curt nod.

“Thank you.”

“It’s gonna get colder when the sun goes down,” Sabo noted as he took a few steps away, pulling at his left glove and popping his coat collar up to cover his neck. “Anyone want to chance a fire for some warm tea?”

Izou opened his mouth to answer but Karasu beat him to it.

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

“Why not? I want tea,” Sabo pouted. “Don’t worry I won’t make you start the fire. I’ll do it.”

“That’s —”

“I’ll get the burner.”

Sabo moved before Karasu could argue further, and Izou watched him hunch his shoulders, the feathers on his cloak ruffling as he mumbled something that muffled against his mask.

Izou wasn't certain why Karasu would be worried, but assumed perhaps Sabo wasn't the best at starting fires. Or maybe he was clumsy? It would be a shame if they caught the ship on fire. They didn't exactly have a Fire Logia user there to maintain the flame after all.

Sabo seemed to know what he was doing, though. The burner he brought out was just a metal shell on legs with a grate that slipped into position on top. Sabo placed a few pieces of kindling in the burner before striking a match, dropping the whole stick rather than holding it down until something caught.

It wasn't precise, and Sabo had to light several matches before the fire actually grew. It wasn't until he'd placed the grate on top that Izou considered maybe he was dropping the matches as quickly as he was because he didn't want the fire near him.

What else would have caused those scars if not fire?

_Damn. No wonder Karasu was uneasy._

"Can I help?" Izou stepped forward, but Sabo just smiled at him.

"Nah I've got it. It's just tea."

Izou almost confessed that wasn't what he wanted to help with, but couldn't seem to find the words to express that he didn't want Sabo near the open fire. Instead he simply sat down beside the Chief, intending to pull him away from the burner if he seemed uncomfortable.

Sabo seemed unbothered the entire time he boiled water and added tea leaves, handing out tin cups when the drink was finished and sitting with his own looking completely satisfied with everything.

The snow was falling thick enough to see now. Izou imagined they'd have to shovel the deck by morning. Karasu was the one to announce Sabo wouldn't be outside that night.

"Izou and I can handle the helm. I don't want you in the cold longer than you need to be."

"Karasu we're going to be on a _winter_ island tomorrow," Sabo chided, arms folded. "This isn't my first time in the cold."

"I agree with Karasu," Izou decided, but the Bird Zoan didn't acknowledge his backup. Izou tried not to take it personally. "I can take the first shift at the helm. You and Karasu go in the cabin and sleep." He looked at Karasu. "I'll wake you up to take over in a few hours."

"Fine," Karasu agreed without argument.

Sabo looked mildly annoyed, but eventually sighed, shoulders slumping. "Fine. You're right. I'll sleep _inside_ this time. Izou you take the first watch, Karasu second. Wake me up if anything happens."

"Nothing will happen," Karasu said, wrapping his feathered cloak tighter around his shoulders. "Let's get inside. I'm tired."

"Yeah, yeah." Sabo waved his hand as he killed the fire in the burner and picked it up to bring it back into the cabin. He cast a smile at Izou as he followed Karasu. "Don't get too bored out here alone."

"If I do I could always build a snowman."

Sabo laughed. "Night."

Lamps hanging from hooks on the cabin wall outside sent a soft golden glow across the deck. The moon was almost entirely full now, adding its own silver light to the mix and making the snowflakes catch light diamonds as they fell. They built up where they landed, heaps of pearly glittering white that paralleled clouds.

Izou left the helm at one point in the night, taking the time to shovel it all off the deck and into the ocean. It was tedious and exhaustive, but would be one less thing for them to worry about the following morning.

Rather than having to wake up Karasu, the Bird Zoan was the one who came out on his own to inform Izou it was his shift at the helm.

"I was going to give you a little longer if I'm being honest." Izou admitted, folding his hands into his sleeves as Karasu took the wheel.

"I'm awake now. It's fine. Go sleep. Don't bother the Chief."

"I wasn't planning to," Izou muttered, leaving Karasu where he was and shutting the door to the cabin, closing himself in. 

It was only just noticeably warmer than outside, but enough that Izou was immediately tired. He rolled out his sleeping mat and crawled onto it, pausing to look over at where Sabo was lying a little ways away on his own mat.

He was curled up on his side, tightly in the fetal position. The pillow had been discarded just above his head, opting to lie on his arm instead, and a blanket had been pulled over him up to his ear. The only thing visible were his eyes and his hair.

He appeared comfortable enough, though, even without the pillow. So Izou laid down, stretching out over the mat and draping an arm over his eyes.

How much time passed, he couldn't be sure. He was on the edge of unconsciousness, then he wasn't. Izou dragged his arm over his face, rubbing his hand over his eyes. A moment of irritation at losing his rest passed when he heard rustling. Probably what had woken him in the first place.

Then another sound, a whimper, and Izou recognized Sabo's voice immediately. He peeled his eyes open, propping himself up on his elbows and rubbing the rest of the sleep from his eyes. Another whimper, ending in a sharp, choked out gasp.

The distress was palpable, and Izou was awake in an instant, sitting up and looking to the side where Sabo was.

He'd curled into a tighter ball, contorted into the fetal position and no longer looking comfortable. Sabo's right hand was tangled in the fringe of his hair, his left hand clenched in the chest of his shirt. His face was screwed up, cheeks marred in tear tracks, and he was gasping like he'd lost the ability to properly take in air.

"Chief?" Izou turned onto his knees and shuffled the distance to where Sabo was sleeping, hand hovering above his shoulder. 

He didn't know if he should try to wake the other man up or not. Sabo was clearly having a nightmare, bad enough that he was crying, but the mind was a complicated machine. Izou could make things worse if he touched Sabo without understanding his current condition.

All debate on what to do fled when Sabo let out a sob. His body seized violently; somehow the movement made him choke. Then he _screamed._ Gut wrenching, born in the low pit of his stomach and tearing from his throat. His body jerked upright and met Izou's arms as the samurai reached out to grab him.

"Chief?!"

Sabo slumped forward so his body weight was being entirely supported by Izou's arm. Izou reached a hand to push Sabo's hair from his face, stunned to find his eyes were still tightly shut. He was still deeply asleep, but he was shaking horribly, lips parted to release strained gasps.

Izou understood nightmares. He himself had been dealing with them since he was very small, learning to work around them as they grew in violence and intensity. He dealt with his own, and he’d helped friends through them, so he knew how to act and respond when this kind of unfortunate thing was happening.

Nightmares were triggered by waking stress, anxiety and trauma, occasionally brought on by uncomfortable changes in a person's life, or sleeping and mental disorders. Amnesia, Izou imagined, would bring its own version of night terrors. Betty had commented that Sabo had in fact regained his memories, but wouldn’t that just make them worse? Izou had never personally suffered from memory loss, so he didn’t know, but… 

_“If something traumatizing takes your mind away from you, the only thing that;s gonna bring it back is something equally traumatizing — whether every last memory returns or not, it’s not gonna fix what’s already broken.”_

That’s what Betty had said, but wasn’t that just _too_ sad?

“You’re safe, Chief,” Izou soothed, searching his own memories for how he would comfort his sister in the past after a bad dream, or one of his crewmates — who would have far worse night terrors thanks to their occupation.

Comfort and security through touch, heat and control. Izou carded his fingers through Sabo’s hair, stroking across his scalp. He swayed to the side so Sabo could lean against him, dropping one hand to Sabo’s left and feeling for his pulse point. The frown on his face deepened when he found it. Sabo's heart was racing far too quickly. If he woke up he wouldn't be in any conscious state at all. Izou imagined he'd be panicked and disoriented. Maybe worse.

“Hear me, Chief?” Izou chided, tightening his grip around the other man in response to his furious shaking. “You’re safe, okay? Safe. I promise.”

Sabo’s face was pressed into Izou’s shoulder, incoherent words catching on his collarbone but close enough that Izou could somewhat make them out. Izou had to shut his eyes at what he heard, wincing and squeezing Sabo’s wrist.

_“Sorry — I’m sorry — I’m sorry — I’m so sorry — I’m so sorry — please I’m so sorry — I’m sorry — sorr —”_

Izou kept one arm around Sabo and reached over to the pillow Sabo hadn't been using. He dragged it onto the mat and laid Sabo back down, pressing one hand to the Chief’s shoulder as the other tightened around his wrist. Sabo’s brow was drawn tight and his cheeks were wet. The single lantern swaying idly from the ceiling sent harsh shadows across his distressed features.

“I got you, Chief. You have nothing to apologize for, alright? Everything’s okay. You’re safe.”

Izou reached down to the blanket that had pooled at Sabo’s lap when he’d sat up, pulling it over Sabo and brushing aside his bangs. Izou didn’t know what it was exactly — the hand stroking through his hair, the one on his shoulder, or the consistent soothing words — but Sabo seemed to be calming down. Izou dried the rest of the tears with his sleeve, eventually calming Sabo to the point where he was no longer shaking.

He stayed in place for a moment longer, just to be sure Sabo was okay, leaning back and reaching for where his cloak was back on his mat. He used it as an additional blanket, draping it over Sabo and pressing his palm to the man’s forehead. Izou didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually Sabo had completely relaxed, snoring softly and peacefully.

Izou pulled the blanket and his cloak further over Sabo, tucking them both beneath his chin and leaning back. He got to his feet, and after taking one last worried look at Sabo, he left the cabin to join Karasu out on deck.

The snowfall had slowed, but there was still a layer that had piled over the boards in the time that Izou had been inside. Karasu flinched at the sound of the door, looking over his shoulder with an alarmed expression.

“What are you still awake for?”

“The Chief woke me up,” Izou explained, rubbing at the sleep still in his eyes — he was tired, but he needed the fresh air. “He was having a nightmare.”

“Another one?” Karasu asked quickly, turning to face Izou. "Did you do something?”

"Of course I didn’t do anything,” Izou sighed in exasperation. “He didn’t wake up, and he’s calmed down now. He just started crying out of nowhere…”

Karasu made a noise, looking at the cabin door. “I see.”

"You said another.” Izou said. “Does he have nightmares often?"

Karasu seemed to think for a moment. "I don't know. I don't see him sleep very often. I think yes. He seems to purposely sleep away from people on missions, possibly so he doesn't wake anyone up. I can only make presumptions though."

"That would make sense," Izou murmured. "Why else would he sleep outside in the cold when there’s a warm cabin right there?"

“It’s the stress,” Karasu turned back to the helm, hands gripping the spokes on the wheel. “The Chief shoulders an enormous responsibility as it is, having to take care of more tedious tasks just adds to his workload. Not to mention his preexisting traumas making things worse.”

Izou eyed Karasu’s back, folding his hands into his sleeves. It could have been paranoia, or his Observation Haki, but Izou could feel the subtext of the Zoan’s words. Izou didn’t want to start anything, though — he’d promised he wouldn’t.

“What do you recommend?”

“Since you’re asking,” Karasu turned to glare over his shoulder. “Next time he asks if you want tea, say no.”

That sounded absurd, so Izou carefully chose his next words. “Was there something in the tea, like a drug, or —”

“Fire is a trigger,” Karasu explained, turning his back to Izou once more. “Those scars on his face aren’t painted on. Normally he’s alright, but he’s already been stressed out, and fire is… it’s a reminder of a lot of things that bring him pain.”

Izou took a breath. “So fire is a trigger. So is the cold. We’re going to a winter island surrounded by shelves of ice and will need to be near a fire if we don’t want to freeze to death.” He let his words hover in the air, but Karasu didn’t respond. Izou shut his eyes, one brow twitching. “Are you perhaps being a little overprotective of your Chief of Staff?”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t protect him from things not even he can see. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who wants to be protected in the first place. He’s young, but he’s not a baby. You can’t protect him from _everything._ Especially when his triggers are going to be surrounding him for the next few days.” Still no answer from Karasu, so Izou continued. “He seems to be fine as it is now, he’s sleeping again, he probably won’t even remember his nightmare in the morning.”

“I don’t need a lecture on who to be protective of from Mister _Let Me Use My Sleeve To Clean Your Bloody Lip.”_

Izou’s face burned in embarassment. “There was nothing else! The rags were soiled in cleaning oil and — just shut up.”

“Hmph.”

“Everything will be fine.” Izou turned away from Karasu. “I needed some air but I’m going back to bed now. Goodnight.”

“Fine.”

 _“Fine.”_ Izou glared at Karasu once more before stepping back into the cabin.

He shut the door securely behind him and returned to where his sleeping mat was. Before lying down he paused, looking to where Sabo had curled back up into the fetal position. His head was still on the pillow this time, which was a good change. He appeared comfortable, his brow was smooth and his breath was steady. Whatever memories had been terrorizing him had left him to sleep through the rest of the night. Izou could only be grateful for the reprieve on Sabo’s behalf.

They would be reaching the edge of the ice shelf sometime the following day, so Sabo would need all the energy he had. They all would.

Though Sabo looked alright, Izou was still worried he could potentially have another nightmare. So he pulled his sleeping mat closer before lying down on his side facing the Chief. This way if he started having another bad dream, Izou could be close enough to reach him sooner. If it helped in any way at all, that was all that mattered.

Izou fell asleep to that thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Apologize again for the long wait? It's more likely than you think because I have anxiety *finger guns*
> 
> I really am sorry though guys. I got SUPER distracted writing that 19k word self indulgent crack ship NSFW smut fic *coughs* I wasn't planning on posting that actually but if response to the Ankartia Arc is mostly positive then I may reconsider and post it for you guys to read. I'm really awkward about the fic though, lowkey worried that people will hate it, so I want to finish this Arc first (since ISH and the 19k side project are directly related. the events of that fic take place right after Ankartia. Anyway).
> 
> Sorry that this chapter was a bit of an info dump. Not much happened but I wanted to write about their voyage because I wanted to write how Sabo, Karasu and Izou interacted before anything serious happened. This is their dynamic, basically, letting people get used to them and letting myself get used to writing them. Karasu is wonderful okay I love him so much. I know we don't have much canon info on him, but what we do know? He's a softy who loves his friends and is VERY protective of innocent people (especially kids I would imagine).
> 
> Listen he's just a funky omen of death leave him alone he's wonderful.
> 
> Anyway we'll officially be meeting Robin in thee next chapter, I can say that for certain, and hopefully it doesn't take as long to write this time (famous last words). I'm so excited for this Arc honestly, it might be one of my favorites because SO MUCH HAPPENS.
> 
> I'm going to explore a TON of Izou's past, because in addition to the bit we learned from Oda in the last SBS (Oda I just wanna fucking talk) I have a bunch of headcanons for him as well, and being on a winter island is literally the perfect chance for me to talk about it. I'm also going to be exploring some of the extent of what Celestial Dragons are capable of, what kind of monsters they are and what exactly the Revs are fighting against, and it gets super dark. I promise I will add necessary trigger warnings, but let me know if you're worried about anything or want me to specify any triggers in the tags. You can ask me questions in the comments here or find me on tumblr under the same name (theprodigypenguin).
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your patience and support, I love you so much QwQ
> 
> — Prodi <3


	13. Ankartia — Part 2: Izou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: nightmares, mentions of death by exposure, implied suicidal tendencies

_“Don’t cry, love. Look — it’s snowing! It’s beautiful, isn’t it; and we get to see it every day!”_

_“I don’t think there’s anything beautiful about the snow anymore…”_

It wasn’t cold when Izou woke the following morning, but there was a weight to his body that had him shutting his eyes again before they’d barely opened. He waited, letting the feeling sink into his bones before reopening his eyes.

He hadn’t had that dream in a long time. Part of him wondered what would have caused it, but it was probably some kind of response to comforting the Chief through _his_ nightmare. A payoff of sorts; a trade. One of them had to have a bad dream, or both of them did. Either way, the memories needed to be remembered.

Izou sighed a little, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. He was alone in the cabin — Sabo’s sleeping mat had been rolled up and put away, and the cloak Izou had draped over him was now slumped in his lap. Sabo likely put it back over Izou when he’d woken up before joining Karasu on deck. That was nice of him.

A burst of cold air instantly prickled Izou’s cheeks when he opened the cabin door. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders as he stepped out onto the deck. Sabo was at the helm again while Karasu shoveled off heaps of snow that had accumulated during the night. The sky was a gloomy blend of grays, whites and silvers, all swirling clouds that shook snowflakes down over them.

Even the ocean seemed a little choppier. The color had gone from a striking cerulean to gray that bordered black. Chunks of ice bobbed past the vessel, but nothing big enough to cause concern.

“Morning,” Izou greeted as he stepped up to the helm.

Sabo, who’d been leaning an elbow against the spoke of the wheel with his chin in his palm, lifted his head when he heard Izou. There were visible bags beneath his eyes, but he still managed a sheepish smile.

“Afternoon, actually.”

Izou paused. “I slept that long?”

“Seems that way.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Sabo shrugged one shoulder, looking back towards the bow of the ship. “You just looked tired is all. Not much is happening right now, so it’s fine. We’re coming up on the ice shelf soon.”

“That explains the chunks of ice in the water…”

“Yeah. It’s thawed to the point where pieces are breaking off, which is perfect for us.” Sabo's eyes lit up mischievously as he turned a grin to Izou. “Don’t get too excited, though. It won’t be easy to reach the shore. We’ll have to break a path in the ice for the ship to pass through.”

“Why do you look so happy about that?”

“Are you kidding? This is my favorite part!” Sabo was fully glowing now, swaying on his feet and squeezing the wheel. “We’ll follow the edge of the shelf until we reach a good place to hide the ship against the shore, then break a path. Robin told us about a cliff that stretched over the ice, making a sort of overhang. That’s where we’re going to anchor.”

“We know where it is?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a general idea marked off on the map. I’ll send Karasu out to confirm the location before we start cracking into the ice.”

“And, uh… how exactly do you plan to break the ice?” Izou asked incredulously. “I understand that it’s thinner because it’s thawing, but it can’t be that easy.”

“Let me worry about that,” Sabo said, meeting Izou’s eye — and yes, he looked far too excited.

“You do have a plan, don’t you?” Izou murmured. “You’re not just going off half cocked and seeing if something works?”

Sabo rolled his eyes. “Yes, I have a real, actual plan. Come on, give me _some_ credit; you sound like Koala.”

“Well…”

“Chief,” Izou and Sabo looked over to where Karasu was standing, looking ahead of the ship. “We’re here.”

“Ahead of schedule, that’s good.”

Izou wrapped the cloak tighter around his shoulders and paced over the deck to join Karasu. He could see a strip of white on the horizon that was almost definitely Ankartia. Lumps of white identified hills and mountains that became clearer the closer they came, until they reached the edge of the ice shelf.

The first thing Izou thought of when he saw it was Aokiji, and the way he’d frozen the bay at Marineford. He clamped his eyes shut to chase away that memory before slowly reopening them.

Karasu sent a few crows towards the island to find the cliff they were supposed to anchor at. Sabo stayed at the helm, turning the ship to sail with the ice shelf on their left. Izou stayed at the railing, leaning against it and staring towards Ankartia’s shore. It was just a handful of miles away, but all he could see was the snow layered along the landscape.

“Where’s the town?” Izou asked over to Sabo.

“Other side of the island. We’ll have to walk there.”

“How big is the island?” Izou asked, rubbing his jaw. “How long will it take to walk?”

“A few hours. It’s not very big.”

“The perfect place for a Celestial Dragon to dig their roots,” Karasu grumbled from beside Izou; the veins in his forehead were popping and his brow was twisted in anger. “A small island that people wouldn’t look twice at, let alone stop at, and if they did, they probably wouldn’t care.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Sabo said. “We’ll pick up the pieces like we always do.”

The energy on the ship became tense. Izou could physically feel how angry both Sabo and Karasu had grown, and it was making him angry in turn. Whatever fate was in store for the Celestial Dragon who’d taken over Ankartia, Izou truly believed he would deserve it.

They hadn’t even taken a step onto the actual island yet, but Izou knew it was going to be an experience he would remember. Just the fact he could feel so much already was proof enough of that.

“Stop here,” Karasu said suddenly, lifting an arm and pointing. “It’s there.”

“Nice,” Sabo backed away from the helm, securing the sides of his coat together with two of the buttons at his chest. “Take the helm and steer us. Izou _-san_.” He dug around in his coat pocket, pulling out his spyglass and holding it towards the samurai. “If you’d be so kind as to stand at the bow and keep an eye out for potential blockages.”

“Sure,” Izou agreed, taking the spyglass.

He turned it over a few times in his hands as Sabo walked past him. It was actually very nice, made of black metal with a blue dragon carved into the side. That seemed appropriate. 

“What are you doing, then?” Izou lifted his head, doing a double take when he realized Sabo had hopped onto the railing and was readjusting the gloves on his hands. “Uh, Chief?”

“Yeah?”

“Going somewhere?”

Sabo looked over his shoulder, grinning back at Izou. “Don’t wait up.” He then jumped.

Izou immediately went to the railing, leaning over it and looking around until he caught sight of Sabo. He was standing on the ice now, hands in his pockets as he strode across the slippery surface completely unhindered. He did slide a few times, but didn’t react at all, which made it seem far too natural. Finally he stopped walking, pulling his hands from his pockets and crouching down. He tapped the surface of the ice with his fists, hard enough that Izou heard the sound resonating in an echo.

Sabo looked up towards the ship, smiling when he met Izou’s eye. He lifted his fists up towards his shoulders, and Izou watched in shock as something shiny and black coated his hands down to his elbows. Izou understood immediately what that was, and his mouth opened in awe.

The Chief of Staff put his fists in the ice like he was punching through wet paper. Cracks webbed out around him so fast it was like watching lightning strike across the sky. The thick layer of ice broke into large chunks, shattering under Sabo’s haki. Pieces bobbed before sinking into the ocean, but most of them stayed floating in place. Sabo hopped to the side, one hand on his hip as he watched the ice continue to crack towards the island.

It was by no means a perfect line. It zigzagged and cut unevenly through the ice, but there was a path big enough for the ship to squeeze through now. Karasu maneuvered their ship to sail towards the island, ice scraping against the sides but doing nothing more than making noise.

Sabo stayed on the ice, walking ahead of the ship and using haki coated fingers to shatter any mounds of ice he dubbed too large for the ship to deal with. It was a slow crawl, but they were inching towards Ankartia’s shore now. Izou stood at the bow with Sabo’s spyglass and kept his eye on the island, occasionally searching the ice field for large obstacles like massive icebergs or people.

Remarkably enough, nothing got in their way, and they reached the island in just under an hour. Karasu pulled the ship just beneath the ledge of the overhanging cliff and dropped anchor, then flew Izou and a few bags of supplies over to the snowy shoreline where Sabo was waiting for them.

“Nicely done,” Sabo praised, taking his bag from Karasu and his spyglass from Izou. He pulled out the scarf Koala had given him before hanging the bag over his shoulder. “Alright. Our next move is locating Robin,” he talked as he wrapped the scarf around his neck, pulling it over his chin and reaching into his bag to pull out the map of the island. “She’s set up at the base of this mountain, which is there,” he pointed at the map, then pointed into the distance at the nearest mountain. “She already knows we’re supposed to be here today, so she’s likely waiting for us.” He rolled the map back up and stowed it in his bag, smiling at Karasu and Izou. “Hopefully with a warm meal, because this place is freezing and I’m starving.”

“Koala put jerky in your bag,” Karasu said, and Sabo’s head snapped in his direction.

“What, really?” He then went back to digging through his bag as Karasu passed him.

Izou snorted and followed, letting Sabo take up the rear when he finally located the bag of jerky. He jogged to walk by Izou’s side, offering to share the snack, but Izou just laughed and shook his head.

"No thank you. How's your knee?"

"It's fine," Sabo stuck a piece of jerky in his mouth and placed the rest of it back into his bag. "I've got it wrapped so the cold isn't affecting me much."

"Keep an eye on it," Karasu said. "There's not much of a path here, and the snow gets deeper."

Sabo sighed a little and looked at Izou as if to say _"can you believe this guy"_ , but Izou couldn't say he blamed Karasu.

Like the Zoan had said, the further they got, the deeper the snow piled, until it was at Izou's knees. They trudged forward slowly with Karasu at the front. Izou decided it was the perfect position, because Karasu was so big he mowed down the snow and made a decent path for he and Sabo to walk on. It was probably better for Sabo — Izou was just happy to have some form of path so snow wouldn't get stuck up the legs of his _hakama_ pants.

At one point he did pause to tie the bottom hems down with drawstrings, but they didn't help much. As someone who was raised part time in a snowy area, Izou was used to trudging through snow, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Not to mention it had been _years_ since he'd been in Ringo. He wasn't as acclimated as he used to be.

By the time the trio was closing in on the foot of the mountains, Izou was cold, tired and irritated. He couldn't feel his cheeks, strands of frozen hair was hanging in his face, and of course it had started to snow again.

Thick, fluffy white flakes were falling heavily in thick sheets. It was becoming difficult to see where they were going, and Izou had to reach out to grab onto the back of Karasu's cloak while Sabo clung to Izou's sleeve. They made a line so they wouldn't be separated, and Izou could tell it would be a full blown blizzard soon.

"How much further?" Izou asked, and Sabo made a noise. 

"Look for a shelter of some sort. Robin built something so she could work under the radar."

"That's it?"

"It's probably not far."

"Chief," Karasu uttered, and Sabo laughed.

"Alright, alright. Stop here, give me a minute to concentrate. I'll see if I can locate her."

"You're gonna call?" Karasu asked and Sabo shook his head, shutting his eyes and lifting a hand.

"No, the storm's too loud for that."

Karasu muttered, "We could've called earlier…"

"Shush."

Sabo's eyes were only shut for an instant before they snapped open, alarmed. The whites of his eyes had gone a pale, glowing red — Observation Haki; and he looked uneasy.

Izou sighed. "Don't tell me…"

"Down," Sabo said, tightening his grip on Izou's arm and tugging once to lead him to kneel. 

Karasu crouched with them, whispering over the wind. "How many?"

"Four. They're in armor," Sabo explained. "Probably guards that the bastard brought with him."

"Why would they be out here?" Izou asked. "What would bring them out in a storm?"

"I've got a theory," Sabo admitted with a crooked half smile that disappeared when a male voice called over the wind.

"You there! Identify yourselves!"

"Ooh, not good," Sabo mumbled, getting to his feet and shifting so he was standing in front of Karasu and Izou. He raised his hands in an unthreatening manner. "Sorry, sorry!"

Izou hissed through his teeth in an attempt to stifle a curse. He stood slowly, looking around Sabo to where the group of four men were standing on an embankment of snow. They were donned in armor and red cloaks. The four point cross symbol of the World Government was emblazoned on their breastplates and stitched into the sleeves of their shoulders.

They all held weapons with wicked looking blades, swords and halberds, each one pointed at Sabo's throat. That immediately had Izou tensing up, reaching for one of the guns tucked into his sash, hidden by his cloak.

He stepped closer to Sabo, leaning towards him. "Chief —"

"Give it a minute," Sabo interrupted before Izou could say more, keeping his hands up towards his shoulders. "Don't move."

"I said identity yourselves!" One of the guards barked out, and Sabo lifted his hands higher.

"We're just taking a walk!"

"In a blizzard?" The same soldier snarled. "Don't act coy! You're with that lunatic swordsman! Lead us to him now or we'll cut you down where you stand!"

"No, we won't," a second soldier announced, stepping up. "We can't kill them, you idiot. Saint Solomon will want to question them."

"That's really a shame," Sabo said, rocking sideways on his feet, straightening when the same soldier pointed a sword point towards him.

"Can it! Keep your hands up and come quietly! We can do this easy or we can drag you back by force."

Sabo pointed at them. "You know what I'm sure you'd try your very best, but," he sucked an inhale through his teeth, "we've got a schedule to keep, so we'll have to pass on that one. Tell Mister Salmon thanks, but maybe next time. Rain check?"

"By force then," the soldier noted, holding his sword in an offensive stance and taking a step forward. "Fine.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Sabo warned, but the soldier merely scoffed; all four of them started for the trio, two closing in on Karasu as the other two came towards Izou and Sabo.

Izou gripped one of his pistols — it would’ve been effortless to shoot all four of them and incapacitate them — but Sabo held his left arm in front of him to stop him. He was still smiling, and seemed unbothered by the fact four government soldiers were bearing down on them. Looking to Sabo’s right, Izou realized Karasu wasn’t looking very worried either. Izou would’ve loved to be as comfortable as them, but someone in this group needed to execute a healthy amount of caution.

He kept the gun in his hand and took the safety off, but didn’t brandish it.

Turns out, he didn’t need to.

The soldiers were barely a few steps forward before _arms_ began to sprout from their bodies — their legs, torso and arms — dozens grew, waving like antennae and wrapping around them.

“What the hell?!” One of the soldiers shrieked, before hands clamped over his mouth and under his chin.

They were pulled backwards, spines arching at a dangerous angle. Izou winced at the sound of popping, snapping bones, and watched as the four soldiers collapsed in the snow, unconscious and foaming at the mouths.

“Shit, are they dead?” Izou asked, wide eyed, and Sabo laughed a little.

“Thanks for the help,” he said.

Izou followed his line of sight when he heard the snow crunching beneath boots. He blinked a few times in an attempt to see through the snow where a figure had stopped, standing above the four unconscious shoulders.

She was dressed in black pants, knee high boots, and a dark purple coat with the hood down. Her arms were crossed in an X in front of her chest, hands held palms up and a smile on her face.

“I was getting worried when the storm got worse. Lucky I came out to meet you.”

“This is Robin?” Izou asked, and Sabo answered enthusiastically.

“Yep!”

“You must be the samurai I’ve heard so much about,” Robin said, turning her sweet smile to him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well.”

“Is your shelter closeby?” Karasu asked, hunched over and shivering.

“You were just about there,” Robin praised, dropping her arms to her sides. “We should hurry inside before we all freeze to death.”

“Yes, let’s.” Sabo looked at Karasu. “Throw ‘em out on the ice shelf. Let ‘em walk back.”

Karasu let a few crows phase from his cloak to pluck the four soldiers from the snow, flying them towards the ocean. Sabo gave a nod of approval before hiking to meet Robin, and the group, now of four, turned back towards the mountains.

* * *

Robin had built an impressive igloo shelter out of ice, nestled at the base of the mountain. Izou never would have seen it if Robin hadn’t led the group directly to the entrance, which was probably a good thing. The soldiers would never be able to locate them if they were this perfectly camouflaged.

There was already a small fire burning in a pit inside the igloo, which was big enough to hold all four of them with a little room to spare. There were a few crates pushed up against the walls, and a sleeping Transponder Snail was sitting on top of one of them, nestled in what looked like a scarf to stay extra warm. Near that crate was a stack of split firewood.

It smelled like cinders and stew, which was cooking in a pot sitting on a grate set up above the fire. It was also exceptionally warm when compared to the outside, which was remarkable.

“Did you build this?” Izou asked as he sat cross legged on one of the cushions around the fire.

“Yes,” Robin said, kneeling on the other side of the fire. “It didn’t take long. I have a certain skill set that makes tasks like that easy.”

“Right, all those arms,” Izou said. “You’re a Devil Fruit User?”

“That’s right.” Robin crossed her arms over her chest, palms up, and arms grew instantaneously from the ground around her; one hand picked up one of the split pieces of wood stacked against the wall and tossed it into the fire. “I ate the _Hana Hana no Mi_.”

“Interesting…”

Karasu settled on Izou’s right while Sabo sat on his left, in front of the igloo’s opening. There was a sheet hanging over the door, which he pulled over it to keep out the cold air. He seemed to be in a good mood as he sat on one of the cushions, grinning at Robin.

“It’s good to see you.” He let the smile fall a fraction. “Sorry you’ve been alone here for so long, I hope you’ve been doing alright?”

“Not at all, it’s been nice,” Robin assured, digging through an open crate and pulling out a few tin cups. “I’m no stranger to being on my own, and it was the right thing to do for this mission. Coffee?”

“Sure.” Sabo accepted one of the cups, reaching for the carafe sitting in the embers of the fire to fill it up.

“How was your trip?” Robin asked. “Any problems?”

“Aside from those four showing up at the very end?” Sabo asked, handing the carafe to Karasu, who seemed all too eager to fill his own cup. “We reached the shore pretty quickly, and the rest of the journey was unproblematic. How are things here?”

Robin seemed to deflate a bit, frowning. “Well… it’s good you’re here.”

“That bad, huh?” Sabo murmured, and Robin lifted her own cup.

“There was a commotion a few days ago at the castle, that’s why those soldiers were out.”

“Yeah, they mentioned a lunatic swordsman?” Sabo asked, and Robin nodded slowly.

“I’m uncertain of the details. I wasn’t at the castle when it went down. A man showed up on Ankartia and immediately started trouble in town and at the castle. He must have challenged the Celestial Dragon here or something, I’m not sure. What I do know is he was captured somehow, but managed to escape punishment. The government guards have been hunting him ever since.”

“That’s annoying,” Sabo murmured, rubbing his jawline with a thumb. “But I suppose we could use this to our advantage. They’re distracted by this swordsman, so they won’t be expecting Revolutionaries.”

“Maybe we should find him,” Izou said. “He could be an ally.”

“Maybe,” Sabo agreed, lifting the coffee to his lips. “We’ll see how things go. I hadn’t considered this form of interference, and without knowing anything aside from what his fighting style is, I don’t feel comfortable making the decision to work with him. We have to be cautious here. More than our lives are on the line. One wrong move by us could hurt the people who live here.” He looked over at Robin then. “What can you tell us about what we have to work with?”

“The people here are very in touch with what little nature they have,” Robin started. “They find some form of spiritual meaning in every flake of snow that falls. Before Solomon came to Ankartia, there were four towns, built to represent north, south, east and west. Thanks to the ice shelf, they rarely received visitors, but they still managed a decent market. They would hold a trade festival every month that would last three days and three nights; every full moon. Artisans from three of the towns would all converge in the east port. The men would all walk onto the ice and break it apart so ships could reach the shore, and they would trade with anyone who showed up. Pirates, marines, scholars — they weren’t picky.

“The castle Solomon took over was at one point a Temple. It was sacred to the people here, somewhere they would go to worship and give thanks for everything they had. It doubled as a hospital and an orphanage. It’s carved of white stone that mimics the snow around it, and reflects the sky lights at night. It’s incredibly beautiful and I understand why the people here love it so much. That building has been here from the beginning, built by their ancestors.” Robin was staring into the fire, looking upset.

“Everything changed twenty years ago when the Celestial Dragon Saint Solomon and his father came here by chance. Solomon liked the castle, he wanted it for himself, and the people here were helpless to it." She shut her eyes, brow drawn in distress. “Those that did protest were either captured or killed. Solomon and his family kicked out the orphans and doctors of the castle and erected a large wall of gray stone that stands out against the landscape like a bruise. They locked out the people, bled them of their wares and taxed them of all the money they made when they traded. Food and firewood became scarce because Solomon took it all. The people here have to pay absurd amounts of money to purchase what they need directly from him, rather than keep what they make for themselves.

“In the past, herds of sheep native to Ankartia wandered freely. The local people would use the wool for clothing, use the meat and milk for food, but Solomon quickly rounded up each one and locked them behind the wall so the people no longer had access to that resource.” Robin opened her eyes again to look into the fire. “The people here are living in poverty under the rule of a World Noble who decided he wanted to live here simply because he liked the castle. He takes what he wants and eliminates anyone who stands in his way.”

The wood in the fire pit crackled under the flames. The stew in the pot started to bubble, breathing out aromic steam that smelt amazing but only served to make Izou feel guilty. They were eating what seemed like good food when the rest of the people on this island could be starving…

“The people from the other three towns relocated to the east port out of necessity and in order to better help each other.” Robin continued to explain as she served up bowls of stew. “After twenty years the south, west and north towns have fallen into ruin covered by ice and snow. I’ve visited them all. They’re unlivable now, which is a shame. I’m sure they were beautiful places in the past.”

“That’s what we’re working with then,” Sabo said, mixing the stew in his bowl with a spoon but not eating it as he opted to stare across the igloo. “Same sonnet as every other country we’ve been to that’s influenced by Marie Jois.”

“It appears that way,” Robin confirmed.

“Okay,” Sabo looked at her directly. “It’s getting late, so we can’t do anything tonight. Bring us to the castle tomorrow so I can see the wall, and we can build a plan from there.”

“Understood,” Robin said with an eager smile.

Sabo shifted around to lean back against one of the crates along the wall, finally digging into his food. “Till then, we should try to relax a little. I imagine this will be a pretty rough mission.”

“Especially if there’s a suspicious swordsman running around causing problems for us,” Karasu noted, and Sabo waved a hand.

“Let’s deal with that later. I just wanna eat my stew.”

“It’s really good,” Izou admitted, looking from his bowl to Robin. “You made it?”

“Yes, I did,” Robin looked proud. “It’s a recipe I learned from the chef on my crew.”

“Crew?” Izou arched an eyebrow, pieces falling into place with a click. “You’re a pirate?”

“Right.” Robin looked extremely calm and happy, and the way she was watching Izou made him think she’d been waiting for him to realize that.

“Then why are you with the Revolutionary Army?”

Robin hummed. “I suppose our reasons are similar,” she said, and Izou lowered his spoon back into his bowl.

“I thought your name was familiar,” he admitted, eyes wide. “You’re Nico Robin. You’re a pirate on Straw Hat’s crew.”

“I’m the archaeologist,” Robin clarified.

Izou stared at her in shock. “You’re Straw Hat’s crewmate.” He repeated, setting his bowl down. “What are you doing with the Revolutionary Army? Where are the rest of you?”

She watched him thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” she revealed. The smile on her lips was sad. “We were separated on Sabaody Archipelago before we could enter the New World together. I haven’t seen any of them since then.”

Izou could feel sympathy pains in his chest and winced. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Robin beamed. “I’ll see them again soon. We weren’t ready for the New World, but when we meet again we’ll be strong enough. We’re not done yet. We won’t be giving up that easily.”

Izou’s lips twitched in a smile. “No, I wouldn’t expect that from you lot at all.”

Robin seemed to consider her next words, eyes shifting to the right before returning to Izou. “I hope I'm not overstepping by inquiring about this but… you were there that day…” Izou noted the way Sabo tensed out of the corners of his eyes.

“At Marineford,” Izou clarified for Robin, who nodded. “Yeah.”

Robin pressed her lips together, rubbing her thumbs against the sides of her bowl. “I just need to ask… what happened with my Captain? The last I saw or heard from him was when he made the newspaper after returning to Marineford. I don’t know anything that happened during the battle…” She looked pained. “I’m just worried.”

“I don’t blame you,” Izou said. “He got away pretty quickly, if it helps. The Heart Pirates sail on a submarine, they showed up at the very last second and offered to take him to safety. Their captain is a doctor, so he was under good care. The rest of the Commanders and myself held back the Marines so they could escape, and the Red Hair pirates showed up soon after.” Izou stared for a moment, his emotions almost dulled from memory. “Everything started going faster and faster after Pops… between his death and Red Hair showing up, I don’t think more than five or six minutes passed.”

Five or six minutes. Red Hair showed up so soon after Whitebeard succumbed to his wounds. So soon after Ace fell. If he’d been seconds earlier then none of this would be happening. The crew Izou had been with for twenty-five years would still be together. Ace wouldn’t have to hide on an island recovering from fatal wounds and retraining himself to live. Luffy wouldn’t have had to _scream_ the way he’d done.

Izou still heard it sometimes. He would dream of Marineford and Luffy’s gut wrenching cries permeating the air like a heavy fog. _Soul crushing._ When he, Marco and Vista had explained what had happened to Ace, none of them could tell him the way his little brother had cried for him. It was just too much. Ace would have jumped ship then and there, gaping chest wound and all.

“He’s really something,” Izou complimented. “That captain of yours. His incapability of yielding is very reminiscent of his brother.”

Robin laughed. “He’s very stubborn,” she said. “I never got to meet Fire Fist, and Luffy never really discussed his past with us, but he seemed like a nice person from what Usopp and Nami told me about meeting him in Alabasta.”

“You couldn’t get Ace to shut up about his kid brother when he got going,” Izou confessed in a drawl, arms folded. “It got worse when he got his bounty. Ace carried it around and shoved it in everyone’s faces. God forbid there be a pause in the conversation, because that was his queue to say _‘did I ever tell you about when Luffy —.’_ You can fill in the blank there.” 

Robin laughed into her hand.

It was nice, Izou decided. Talking about Ace, talking about Marineford. It still felt raw, and the memories made him feel numb, but it was _easier_ now. Maybe because he knew Ace was still alive and training to reenter the world. Maybe because time had passed and he was healing. Whatever the reason, it was therapeutic, and he wanted to talk more. He wanted to tell Robin about the way Luffy literally fell into Marineford backed by allies he’d broken out of Impel Down. How he challenged Whitebeard and punched Garp in the face. How he fought so furiously and bravely to free Ace. They loved each other so much that Izou and the rest of the crew could _feel it._ Izou wanted to talk about that, but Sabo stood up before he could.

He had the map of Ankartia in one hand, his hat in the other, and his eyes, Izou noticed, were unnervingly blank. “I’m gonna take a walk and check the perimeter. See if I can locate a good vantage point.”

“Are you sure?” Robin asked, and Sabo made a noise, putting the hat on his head.

“Yeah. I’ll be back.”

“There’s a hill if you go left when you’re outside,” Robin offered. “There are some stones stacked there beside a big tree, the remnants of the north village. That might work.”

“Thanks,” Sabo said.

Izou leaned back when a crow phased from Karasu’s coat and fluttered over to Sabo. It perched on his shoulder. Sabo glanced at it before looking over at Karasu, then turned and ducked through the curtain in front of the opening to exit the shelter.

“How has he been doing?” Robin asked in an incredibly gentle voice.

Karasu seemed to sink deeper into his cloak, staring at where Sabo had disappeared. “I can never tell,” he admitted. “He had a nightmare before we got here. I just need to keep an eye on him.”

“I understand,” Robin said, then looked at Izou. “I know how it must feel, but it’s not your fault, alright? This is something that Sabo has to work through. All the rest of us can do is support him.”

Izou frowned. “Why would it be my fault?”

Robin looked surprised by the question, looking at Karasu, who shook his head. 

“What did I do now?” Izou asked with a sigh. “This isn’t the first time someone has implied the Chief’s mood is my fault before saying it wasn’t my fault.”

“He hasn’t talked to you yet,” Robin stated, and Izou threw his hands up.

“No, evidently not!”

“Let’s change the subject then,” Karasu grunted, and Izou sent a scowl in his direction.

“If you keep bringing it up —”

“He didn’t tell me at first either,” Robin sympathized. “In fact he wouldn’t look at me or talk to me for the first few weeks I was in Baltigo. He told me eventually, but it was difficult for him.” She smiled sadly. “Sabo is the kind of man who tries to deal with things all on his own, especially things that cause him guilt. Even if the circumstances that brought him pain were completely out of his realm of control. It doesn’t matter to him, how many times any of us say it. He’ll still blame himself. Sabo is an ineffably kind person, but tragically enough, irreparably damaged. There’s not much we can do about it.”

Izou sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I get it, but it would probably be easier to understand if I actually knew the full story; and why it involves me.”

“How long did it take for him to talk to you?” Robin asked, and Izou dropped his hand from his face.

“He spoke to me immediately. Dragon put me under his care, so we talked from day one.”

“That’s wonderful!” Robin looked excited. “That’s a lot better than I got! That must mean _something_ positive.” She said this to Karasu, who grunted again.

“Maybe. Just don’t push it. We need him in his head for this mission. If he's off, I’ll be off.”

Robin hummed with a smile, meeting Izou’s eye. “When a crow likes someone, they can be very protective.”

“I’ve noticed,” Izou snorted, and Karasu growled.

“Piss off.”

“Well, since there’s not much else to do,” Robin pulled out a stack of cards and smiling. “We may as well pass the time.”

“Shouldn’t someone go after the Chief?” Izou asked, and Karasu grunted again.

“He’s fine. He’s standing on that hill Robin mentioned, just looking around right now. Give him some space, I’ve got eyes on him. I’ll let you know if we need to intervene.”

That did make Izou feel better, so he accepted the cards Robin offered him, holding them with one hand while lifting his bowl of stew up with the other. “Well… alright. Just so you know, I was a pirate for twenty-five years. I know how to gamble.”

“That’s cute,” Robin said. “Let’s see how well you do, Mister Samurai.”

* * *

_Robin won their game of cards. They played three more games and she won those as well. Somewhere between their last game and reading through a book Robin offered him, Izou fell asleep. It felt as if he almost immediately began to dream._

_He was sitting in a snowbank, shaking from the cold and wrapped in a decrepit kimono covered in holes and dirty patches. His younger sister, Kiku, was curled against his side, tucked tightly beneath his arm with her face pressed to his collarbone. She was trembling, sniffing, wearing similar grungy clothing._

_Her short black hair was damp from the snow, despite how Izou tried to shield her from the flakes that floated down from the gloomy sky._

_Sitting close to Izou’s left side was their mother. She was worse off than her children, Izou remembered; the dream was so vivid. The thin white kimono was the only thing she was wearing on her gaunt body, as she’d opted to drape her stained blue cloak around Kiku and Izou. Her black hair was lifeless and hanging over her shoulders, knotted and tangled in a frame around her pale, sunken face. Her lips were chapped and tinted blue from the cold, and her dark eyes — Izou remembered them once being so sparkling and warm — were now distant and tired._

_She wasn’t shaking, but that didn't mean she wasn't cold. The hand she had on Izou’s shoulder was ice. She pulled her cloak over his and Kiku’s heads before stroking her other hand up and down her daughter’s back._

_Kiku’s stomach growled and she whimpered. She reached an arm across Izou to tug on their mother’s sleeve. “Mummy, my stomach hurts.”_

_“You’re hungry?”_

_“Uh-huh.” Kiku nodded._

_Izou didn’t have to look at his mother’s face to know there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry… we don’t have any food.”_

_Izou reached out to the snow in front of him, packing it into a tight ball before offering it to Kiku. “Chew on this,” he offered. “It’ll help.”_

_Kiku whined again but took the snowball with both hands. She climbed over Izou’s legs to sit on his lap and huddle against his chest, holding the snow up to her mouth to gnaw on it, pointlessly attempting to sate her hunger. They hadn’t eaten in days…_

_The three of them were freezing, starving and exhausted. Izou’s fingertips were blue, and he couldn’t feel them anymore. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. They’d been living on the streets of Ringo for weeks, ever since Izou’s father had been arrested for illegal drug and weapons distribution, extortion, conspiracy and exploiting child prostitution._

_He was a depraved man who hid behind the mask of a respectable dance school instructor. No one knew the true extent of his sins, and when they did discover it, they demonized his family along with him._

_Izou, Kiku and their mother, though victims in their own right — Izou couldn’t count how many times the man had forced him to dance or shoot pistols for the entertainment of his debauched clients — were thrown out in the snow with only the clothes on their backs. The Ringo citizens set fire to the school and burned it to ash, before dubbing the trio as unclean and shunning them._

_They’d been struggling to get by ever since._

_They did everything they could to earn money and food. Kiku would play music on a busted shamisen they’d managed to salvage from the wreckage of their father’s school. Izou danced with fans their mother had fashioned from scraps. Their mother was always the one who made the most money. She would disappear for a few hours and return with a scant pouch of money that she would use to buy food for her children._

_She never admitted how she got the finances, Kiku teased that their mother just took it, but Izou always felt a painful knot in his stomach when it was discussed. It wasn’t confirmed, but he thought he could guess. He was sure he knew what their mother did to herself in order to provide for them, and it broke his heart._

_He wanted to protect his family, the ones he had left, but he was just a child himself. What could he have done?_

_Kiku had started to cry in Izou’s lap, gnawing on the snowball that was melting in her hands and wailing against the stomach pains. Izou took the snow from her hands, cupping them in his own and breathing against her icy fingers as their mother brushed snowflakes from her hair and hushed her._

_“Don’t cry, love,” she soothed. “Look — it’s snowing! It’s beautiful, isn’t it; and we get to see it every day!”_

_Kiku shook her head, eyes pinched closed against the view. “I don’t think there’s anything beautiful about the snow anymore. It’s ugly, I hate it.”_

_Izou pressed his lips into a tight line, looking up at his mother. She looked tired and sad. A layer of snow had piled on her shoulders. When she met Izou’s eye she managed a shaky smile and set a hand on his head._

_“You used to build people with Kiku, right? Little snow people? You used to love that.”_

_“Yeah,” Izou perked up, turning a smile onto Kiku. “Let’s make snow people!”_

_“But my hands are cold,” Kiku mumbled._

_Izou rubbed his sister's tiny hands between his own. “We can warm them up after. It’ll be fun!”_

_He got to his feet, dragging Kiku up with him and taking a moment to secure the clothing around her shoulders. His mother squeezed one of his hands weakly, and Izou leaned closer to her so she could plant a kiss on his cheek. Her chapped lips scratched at his skin. They scratched Kiku’s too, because she whined and rubbed at her cheek after accepting the kiss._

_“Do you wanna play with us?” Kiku asked, eyes immediately a little brighter now that she was on her feet._

_Their mother shut her eyes with a smile. “Mummy is a little sleepy, so she’s going to take a nap.”_

_“Oh, okay,” Kiku nodded. She shuffled forward and pulled the cloak over the woman, who laughed. “Sleep well.”_

_“I will,” she promised, and Kiku turned to scamper a little ways away and crouch down to start packing snow into a ball to roll. When Izou moved to join her, his mother squeezed his hand painfully, pulling him back. There were tears welling in her eyes as she looked desperately at her son. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I am… so sorry.”_

_Izou watched her before answering. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”_

_His mother slowly shook her head. “Izou… can you make me a promise? I know it’s unfair of me. I have no right. I’ve failed you as your mother, but…”_

_“I can promise,” Izou said, both hands lifting to take his mothers. “What is it?”_

_“Look after Kiku,” the woman said breathlessly. “Protect…” her eyes unfocused and she blinked. “Protect each other. You’re the oldest, remember? Please. Live.” She almost gasped the final word._

_Izou felt weight sink into his stomach. He nodded so slowly. “I’ll be a good big brother. We’ll both live. We both will. I promise.” His lip quivered. “You don’t have to worry. It’ll be okay.”_

_His mother smiled sweetly and leaned back against the snow bank, still sitting up with the cloak pulled over her. She reached up to hold Izou’s cheek, stroking with her thumb. “My brave little camellia.” Her eyes shut again, dropping her hand. “Your mother is tired. I’m sorry. Can I sleep now? Can I trust you?”_

_Izou trembled. “You can sleep,” he assured, and he watched as her fluttering eyelids stopped twitching, cracked lips parting a fraction as she faded away._

_She looked beautiful, like she was sleeping, and she would look that way forever now._

_Izou took a step back. Then another. He turned away and numbly walked towards where Kiku was smoothing the sides of the snow person she’d been building. She blinked when Izou got closer, looking up at him curiously. Her eyes looked like stars, and her next words cut through him like a blade._

_“Why are you crying?”_

* * *

Izou probably should have expected to dream of that day. He always did when it snowed. The temperature would drop, white flakes would start to fall, Izou’s fingers began to ache; all signs that he’d be remembering again.

She was still there, he recalled. His mother. Still sitting where she’d fallen asleep, immortalized in the freezing air because bodies didn’t decompose in Ringo, and no one could move her after the fact. Not without breaking something off.

Izou lifted a hand to his face when his consciousness edged to the forefront, reminding him of where he was. On Ankartia with the Revolutionary Army. When he opened his eyes he turned his head, finding Karasu huddled in a pile of black feathers and snoring softly. Robin was curled up on her side with a blanket pulled up to her shoulder, and the fire in the pit at the center of the igloo had dimmed to show only glowing embers.

Izou tended to it first, adding a few logs and poking at the embers until the wood caught a small flame. He then put his head on a swivel, brow drawing when he realized the Chief of Staff was nowhere in sight.

It had to have been late. Was he still _outside?_ What kind of moron…

Izou got to his feet instantly, drawing his cloak around his shoulders and going straight for the entrance without hesitating. The storm had died down from how bad it had been when Robin found them. In fact there was no snow falling at all anymore. The sky was remarkably clear, the moon was full, and there were _lights_ — blue, green, purple, red — streaking through the sky and dancing, rolling, twisting. Like the ocean had been stuck up there with the stars.

For a moment he was frozen to the spot, staring up at the lights with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. He forgot why he’d come out there, but the way his fingers throbbed pulled him back to the present. He tugged at his gloves and held the sides of his cloak together in one fist as he turned left. That was the direction Robin had pointed Sabo. Izou just hoped the fool hadn’t moved from his spot.

It didn’t take long to find the hill, and the snow-caked tree growing at the top. It must have been a breed that was acclimated to the harsh climate, because it was huge. The trunk was smooth and wide, and there were twisting branches stretching out and up in every direction. It was even producing green leaves on smaller branches that hung low, reminiscent of a willow tree. Snow was packed on the strong branches, and ice had formed around the hanging leaves.

The light from the moon and the colors that danced in the sky shone blindingly against the snow, reflecting back up against the icy leaves and sending a kaleidoscope of colors everywhere the light could reach.

That’s where Izou found Sabo, sitting on a grey slab of stone at the base of the tree. He was leaning forward with his arms folded over his knees, head tilted back and eyes to the sky. The crow Karasu had sent out with him was huddled in a perch on Sabo’s right shoulder. If Sabo was out here to watch the rainbow in the night sky, then Izou understood, but it was below freezing and the Chief certainly wasn’t wearing enough clothes to counter that.

“Chief what are you doing out here?” Izou asked as he hiked up the hill through the snow.

Sabo didn’t offer much reaction, keeping his eyes lifted and showing no sign that he’d even heard. Though the crow lifted its head, its beak opening and closing soundlessly. A greeting? Who knew. It preened at Sabo’s hair as Izou came closer, and Sabo finally responded, blinking his eyes rapidly. He swatted the crow away from his hair before turning his head to look at Izou.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I was calling you,” Izou said, and Sabo made a noise.

“Sorry, I probably didn’t hear you.” He lifted his hand, brushing his hair behind the mangled, scarred shell of his left ear. “I’m partly deaf in this ear.”

“Huh?” Izou gaped. “Oh. You never mentioned that before.”

“Wasn’t relevant.”

“What are you doing out here?” Izou asked again. “It’s freezing.”

“Is it?” Sabo moved his hair back into place to hide the deformed ear. “I was just watching the sky.” He waved his hand up, motioning to the colors. “Robin told us over Transponder Snail that the locals called these the Ankartia Lights. It was one of their biggest tourist attractions before what’s-his-name took over.” He folded his arms over his knees again. “They look like the Aurora Borealis.”

“Not as many colors in the Aurora Borealis,” Izou said, stepping closer. “How long have you been out here?”

Sabo rubbed his chin with his thumb. “I’m not sure. An hour?”

“It’s been longer than an hour. Everyone else is already asleep.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I was, but I woke up. I wasn’t sure where you’d gone and got worried.” He paused before adding, “I doubt Karasu would be very happy if he learned I’d seen you missing and not done anything about it.”

The crow squawked in agreement from Sabo’s shoulder.

Sabo snorted. “Sorry about him. He’s still getting to know you is all. Give it time.” He held his hands up. “Maybe give him something shiny.”

“Shiny?”

“Yeah, like a coin or a spoon. Maybe a broken chain. Something shiny. He takes to that kind of thing.”

“Why?”

“He’s a crow Zoan.” Sabo reached up to the crow on his shoulder, rubbing its head. “Crows like shiny objects.”

“Ah, so it’s a bribe.”

Sabo laughed. “Sure. He didn’t like me much when I was younger, I was sort of just there. I mean he cared, he just didn’t pay me much attention. Then one day I gave him this broken spoon I found on the ground and he really liked it. I think he still has it. It was just litter I wanted to throw away, but it was shiny.”

“Is it really that easy?” Izou murmured. “May try that.”

“Don’t worry too much about it though. Karasu is a good guy, he’ll come around one way or another. He’s just gotta get used to you.”

Izou continued to stare at Sabo for a moment, eyes moving down to the thick wrap around his knee. “You really should move inside. The cold will just end up hurting you and making your knee worse.”

“I’m fine right now,” Sabo argued. “I want to watch the sky a little longer. I don’t get to see things like this all the time.” He sighed a little — he looked tired. “It’s beautiful.”

It _was_ beautiful, and Izou didn’t see the harm in letting Sabo enjoy it, but he also didn’t want to leave him alone. Especially in this weather. Especially having known people who have died from exposure in the past. So Izou sat down beside Sabo to watch the sky with him.

“Aren’t _you_ tired and cold?” Sabo asked, and Izou hummed, folding his hands into his sleeves.

“I’m done sleeping; and I’m used to the cold. Where I grew up in Wano was a lot like this. Cold, snowy, almost no sunny days, so it doesn’t bother me much.”

“Oh that’s good to know. That doesn’t negate you being cold of course.”

“No it’s _very_ cold out here,” Izou confirmed. “You’re right though… it is beautiful.”

Izou found himself with his eyes glued on the sky like Sabo’s had been. The way the lights were moving, he could swear he could see images — faces, flowers, landscapes, even though he knew that was ridiculous. It looked like the sky was on fire. Blue flames that reminded him of Marco. Orange and red that reminded him of Ace. Green that reminded him of the Aurora Borealis. Purple that reminded him of the wisteria that used to grow along Oden Castle.

Izou had to close his eyes against that particular memory. Kiku used to love those flowers.

“Are you alright?”

Izou reopened his eyes and looked to his right. Sabo was watching him with a concerned expression. “Yes, why?”

“You just seem a little agitated,” Sabo admitted, and Izou winced before looking away.

“It’s nothing.”

“Worried about tomorrow?”

Izou considered that before shaking his head. “I don’t believe so. I trust you, and despite him not liking me much, I trust Karasu too; and Nico Robin.” He turned his head to meet Sabo’s eye. “What exactly is our plan, though? Things are a little complicated since we’re dealing with a Celestial Dragon.”

Sabo’s nose wrinkled. “Why is it complicated? He’s not special.”

“I just mean if we do something to him, isn’t there a fear of him bringing an Admiral here? Can we fight an Admiral?”

Sabo looked away, folding his arms. “I could fight an Admiral,” he mumbled, and Izou rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious.”

“We’ll cut off his ability to communicate with Marie Jois and the Navy,” Sabo explained. “Locate their universal Transponder Snail and take it so he can only use short distance snails. We’ll get rid of his guards then go after him directly.”

“Okay. What are we supposed to do then?”

Sabo tapped his fingers against his arm. “We take out the threat. That man has caused these innocent people immeasurable pain and suffering. We can’t just let him continue when we can stop him. _I can’t_ do that.”

Izou swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat. Sabo looked way too serious, and Izou had a good idea of what he was trying to say, but he wanted to hear it. Was Sabo really on that level? Izou understood, but wasn’t there a different way to go about this?

“You’re gonna kill him?”

Sabo turned his head to look at Izou. His eyes were blue yet somehow colorless and empty. “If I have to.” He blinked and looked away. “Unless we can get him off the island with the confirmation that he won’t come back. Either way, I refuse to leave Ankartia before I’ve eliminated the threat he poses.”

“Even if that means taking someone’s life?”

Sabo looked at Izou again, head tilting left, and he watched Izou with a bewildered expression. “What makes that man’s life more important than the lives he’s very likely taken himself?”

_Fair point…_

“That man and the others like him on Marie Jois deserve nothing less than retribution for their sins. The things they’ve done, the lives they’ve destroyed, for hundreds of years. Their crimes have been overlooked for far too long. It’s time they pay.” He paused, and the waxy look of his eyes softened. “Look, I understand if you’re uncomfortable. If you don’t like our methods then I won’t force you to join us. You don’t have to be right there when I face Salmon. Shit, I wasn’t planning on asking you, Karasu or Robin to come with me then anyway. But this needs to be dealt with and I’m going to do it.”

Izou couldn’t help the way his chest twisted painfully, his heart aching. “I get it,” he said, “and I agree. That man deserves to be put in his place — also I’m pretty sure his name is Solomon.”

“It is?”

“I’m just… concerned. _Killing_ someone isn’t exactly the same as knocking someone unconscious. Just… the idea of you sinking into depravity by taking someone’s life…”

Sabo looked baffled. “You think I’ve never taken a life before?” He asked, and Izou winced. “I’ve long since fallen into depravity, as you call it. I’m not fragile, Izou _-san_.”

“I didn’t say that, I just… why _you?”_ Izou held his hands out to emphasize his words. “Why does it have to be you all the time? Because you’re the Chief of Staff? You’re not responsible for fixing _all_ the world's problems.”

Sabo stared at Izou blankly. He let the silence stretch for an uncomfortable amount of time once he’d finished talking, and Izou was about to demand he respond when Sabo keeled over in laughter. Izou’s cheeks burned, eyes going wide in alarm.

“How could you laugh in this situation?!”

“I’m sorry,” Sabo laughed, rubbing his watery eyes. “It’s just… you’re not the only one who’s said that to me. I appreciate that you care about that, really.” He sat straighter, chuckling a little more before sighing. “I know… I know. It’s not my responsibility to fix something I didn’t break, but you know… no one has a responsibility to do _anything_ .” He moved his right hand to the left side of his face, shutting his eyes and smiling softly as he traced the scar there. “But everyone has a choice. I choose to do what’s right, rather than what’s comfortable. Even if I break all the bones in my body, damage my mind to the point where it can’t be repaired, then that’s the sacrifice that has to be made, and the one I’m willing to make.” He covered his left eye with his hand, blocking the rest of his face from Izou’s view. “Someone needs to make that sacrifice — someone _always_ has to make that sacrifice — and if that someone has to be me, then all I can ask for is that my death will mean something.”

“Who said anything about dying?” Izou demanded. “What happened to this being a simple mission?”

“It’s not like I’m planning to die,” Sabo laughed. “I just meant… this is my job. This is what I do. I fight Celestial pricks and I do what I can to liberate the people under their control so they can have the opportunity to make choices like the rest of us. I dedicated my life to this cause, and if I die for it — if I die protecting innocent people,” he dropped his hand and smiled at Izou. “I would die without any regrets.”

Two things passed Izou’s mind then. That this fool was absolutely insane, and that his words, his resolve to die with no regrets, sounded agonizingly familiar. A little skewered, but similar, because Ace used to say it.

_Live a life with no regrets._

That was his motto, and Izou decided immediately that he liked it a lot better than Sabo’s decision to _die_ without regrets.

“I don’t want you dead,” Izou said simply, and Sabo had the audacity to laugh again.

As if the concept of his friend preferring him alive was absurd.

“Thanks,” Sabo said, but Izou got the feeling he didn’t get it.

He shook his head a little, watching Sabo closely. The colorful lights that were dancing in the sky reflected through the ice on the hanging leaves, casting something akin to a stained glass glow of colors over the Chief. The same colors reflected in his eyes, but it did nothing to veil the absolute emptiness.

_Ineffably kind; irreparably damaged._

“I’ll come with you when you face Solomon,” Izou said, and Sabo blinked in surprise. “I want to help.”

Sabo looked uneasy at that. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? It’s why I joined you here, in order to help."

Sabo frowned, and after a moment stated, “No,” before standing up.

Izou gaped at the space where he’d been sitting before whipping his head to follow Sabo with his eyes as the Chief walked a few steps forward. “What do you mean no? You can’t just say no.”

“I can actually.” Sabo had pulled out his spyglass and held it up to look towards the mountains — what he was looking at, Izou couldn’t be sure. Maybe nothing. Maybe he was just distracting himself. “In this situation I’m your superior, and I'm telling you no.”

Izou shot to his feet. “Hang on a minute —!”

“I’m gonna head back.” Sabo shut his spyglass, returning it to his coat and smiling at Izou. “don’t stay up too long.” He bobbed his shoulder to jolt the crow into motion. It flapped its wings and squawked at Sabo. “You stay out here with Izou _-san_ in case something happens.”

The crow gave another squawk but did as it was told, flying over to Izou and clumsily perching on his shoulder. Izou looked at it before looking back at Sabo.

“Chief —” Izou cut himself off when Sabo walked past him, then sighed and spun on his heel. “Sabo!” The other man faltered in his steps. Izou worried for an instant that he was offended to be addressed by his name rather than his title, but brushed that aside. “Why are you so eager to walk to your own death?!”

Sabo was quiet for a moment before lifting a hand to adjust the hat on his head. “I avoided death once before, but my survival took the most important thing I’d ever had away from me.” He turned just enough to throw a smile over his shoulder. “I’m just always prepared to catch up to that fate.”

With that he turned, lifting his hand in a wave. “Anyway, good night.”

Izou watched him go, feeling numb. After a moment he lifted his gloved hands, scowling at the way his fingertips throbbed from the cold. He curled them both into fists, hissing through his teeth and shutting his eyes.

_“Son of a bitch…”_

The crow on his shoulder squawked again in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, we've now broken into 100k words in this fic! Which, as mentioned on Tumblr, is AMAZING! I just want to thank you all for reading and supporting me through this project. I've been in a couple of fandoms before now, but Ive never had this much honest and consistent vocal support. I can't express how much I appreciate it, and I hope to continue to produce writing that you can all enjoy QwQ
> 
> The final 100k Word Celebration Poll is still going on my twitter /@prodigyp3nguin. As things stand it looks like I'll be writing the Post Sabaody DeuAce fic, but who knows? We still have a day left of voting! So go on and vote if you haven't yet! And I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> — Prodi


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